li»^Piig!i-:i:?' 


UlylVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UIVIWRSITY  of  CALIFORNUi 


/A  i 


LOS  i^Js^GELES 
UBRARY 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


6  16  6     IS 


Then  read  from  the  treasttrea  volume  the  poew 
of  thy  choice. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


Hark!  the  wmhers  soft  and  rlrnr 

Gently  sieai  upon  the  ear; 

Now  louder^  and  yet  louder  rise. 

Ami  Jill  xcith  spreading  sou?ids  the  skies; 
Exidting  in  triumph  now  sxvell  the  bold  rwtes^ 
In  hroken  air,  trembling,  the  wild  music  Jloats, 

Alexander  Pope. 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

A  Book  of  Verse  for  Youth 

CHOSEN   AND    CLASSIFIED   BY 

KATE    DOUGLAS    WIGGIN 

AND 

NORA  ARCHIBALD  SMITH 


WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  INTERLEAVES 

BY 

KATE   DOUGLAS   WIGGIN 


•.-;i5*»T.-        '.       , 


'  To  add  to  golden  numbers,  golden  numbers ' 
— TflOMAa  Dekkeb 


GARDEN    CITT  NEW   YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1923 


57832 


'     • «  .  *  «      .       .  <  c        c    <  ,' 


«      •     :  «  t     r 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,   BT 

DOtJBLEDAT,   PAGE   &    COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED,    IKCLUDIXG    THAT    OF    TRANSLATIOK 

INTO  FOREIGN   L.VNGUAGES,   INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 

THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


O     C) 


A   NOTE 

r 

W  E  are  indebted  to  the  following  jtrms  for 
permission  to  use  poems  mentioned: 

Frederick  Warne  ^  Co.,  for  poems  of  George 
Herbert  and  Reginald  Heber;  Small,  Maynard 
^  Co.,  for  two  poems  by  Walt  Whitman,  and 
"  The  Tax-Gatherer,"  by  JohnB.  Tabb;  George 
Routledge  Sf  Son,  for  "  Sir  Lark  and  King 
Sun,"  George  Macdonald;  Longmans,  Greets 
<§•  Co.,  for  Andrew  Lang's  "  Scythe  Song  ",* 
Lee  Sf  She  par  d,  for  "  A  Christmas  Hymn,"  Al- 
fred Dommett,"  and  "  Minstrels  and  Maids,** 
William  Morris;  J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.,  for  three 
poems  by  Thomas  Buchanan  Read;  John  Lane, 
for  "  The  Forsaken  Merman,"  Matthew  Arnold, 
and  "  Song  to  April,"  William  Watson;  "  The 
Skylark,"  Frederick  Tennyson;  E,  P.  Dutton  4* 
Co.,  for  "  0  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem,"  Phil- 
lips Brooks;  Dana,  Estes  Sr  Co.,  for  "  July,"  by 
Susan  Hartley  Swett;  Little,  Brown  <§•  Co.,  for 
poem^  of  Christina  G.  Eossetti^  and  for  the  threg 

fv] 


A  NOTE 

poems,  "  The  Grass,''  "  The  Bee,"  and  "  Chart- 
less  "  bi/  Emily  Dickinson;  D.  Appleton  (§•  Co., 
publishers  of  Bryant's  Complete  Poetical  Works, 
for  "  March,"  "  Planting  of  the  Apple  Tree," 
"  To  the  Frmged  Gentian,"  "  Death  of  Flow- 
ers," "  To  a  Waterfowl,"  and  "  The  Twenty- 
second  of  December  ";  Charles  Scribner's  Sons^ 
for  '•  The  Wind  "  and  "  A  Visit  from  the  Sea," 
both  taken  from  "  A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses  "; 
"  The  Angler's  Reveille,"  from  "  The  Toiling 
of  Felix  ";  "  Dear  Land  of  All  My  Love,"  from 
"Poems  of  Sidney  Lanier,"  and  "The  Three 
Kings,"  from  "  With  Trumpet  and  Drum,"  by 
Eugene  Field;  The  Churchman,  for  "  Talking 
Ship  Off  Shore,"  by  Walter  Mitchell;  The 
Whitaker-Ray  Co.,  for  "  Columbus  "  and 
"  Crossing  the  Plains,"  from  The  Complete 
Poetical  Works  of  Joaquin  Miller;  The  Mac 
mUlan  Co.,  for  "At  Gibraltar,"  from  "North 
Shore  Watch  and  Other  Poems,"  by  George 
Edward  Woodberry. 

The  following  poems  are  used  by  permis- 
sion of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with, 
Houghton,  Mifflin  ^-  Co.,  the  authorized  pub- 
Ushers: 

T.  B.  Aldrich,  "A  Turkish  Legend,"  "Be- 
fore the  Rain,"  "  Maple  Leaves,"  and  "  Tiger 
Lilies  ";   Christopher  P.  Cranch,  "  The  Boho- 


A  NOTE 

UnJcs  ",•  Alke  Gary,  "  The  Gray  Swan  ";  Mar- 
garet Deland,  "  While  Shepherds  Watched 
Their  Flocks  by  Night  ";  Ralph  Waldo  Em- 
erson, "Forbearance,"  "The  Humble-Bee,'* 
*' Duty,"  "The  Rhodora,"  "Concord  Hymn,'* 
**  The  Snow  Storm,"  and  Ode  Sung  in  the 
Town  Hall,  Concord;  James  T.  Fields,  "  Song 
of  the  Turtle  and  the  Flamingo  ";  Oliver  Wen- 
dell Holmes,  "  Old  Ironsides  "  and  "  The  Cha/ni- 
bered  Nautilus  ";  John  Hay,  "  The  Enchanted 
Shirt  ",•  Julia  Ward  Howe,  "  Battle  Hymn 
of  the  Republic  ";  Bret  Harte,  "  The  Reveille  " 
and  "  A  Grey  port  Legend  ";  T.  W.  Hig  gin- 
son,  "  The  Snowing  of  the  Fines  ";  H.  W. 
Longfellow,  "  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus," 
"The  Psalm  of  Life,"  "Home  Song,"  "The 
Three  Kings,"  and  "  The  Harvest  Moon "; 
James  Russell  Lowell,  "  Washington,"  extracts 
from  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,"  "  The 
Fatherland,"  "  To  the  Dandelion,"  "  The 
Singing  Leaves,"  and  "  Stanzas  on  Freedom  "; 
Lucy  Larcom,  "  Hannah  Binding  Shoes  "; 
Edna  Dean  Proctor,  "  Columbia's  Emblem  "; 
T.  W.  Parsons,  "  Dirge  for  One  Who  Fell 
in  Battle  ";  E.  C.  Stedman,  "  The  Flight 
of  the  Birds  "  and  "  Going  A-Nutting "; 
E.  R.  Sill,  "  Opportunity  ";  W.  W.  Story, 
"  The    English    Language  ";    Celia    Thaxter, 

Iviil 


A  NOTE 

"  The  Sandpiper  "  and  "  Nikolina  ";  J.  T. 
Trowbridge,  "  Evening  at  the  Farm  "  and 
"  Midwinter  ",•  Bayard  Taylor,  "  ^  iVi^/ii 
TTti/i  o  Wolf  "  awd  "  T/ie  Song  of  the  Camp  "; 
J.  G.  Whittier,  "  The  Corn  Song,"  "  The  Bare- 
foot Boy,"  "  Barbara  Frietchie,"  extracts  from 
*"  Snow-Bound,"  "Song  of  the  Negro  Boat- 
man," and  "  The  Pipes  at  Lucknow  ";  W.  D. 
Ilowells,  "  In  August  ";  J.  G.  Sawe,  "  Solo- 
mon and  the  Bees." 


viii  ] 


#«ee 


CONTENTS 

k  CHANTED   CALENDAR 

Daybreak.     By  Percy  Bysslie  Shelley  1 

Morning.     By  John  Keats  1 

A  Morning  Song.      By  William  Shakespearfi  ft 

Evening  in  Paradise.     By  John  Milton  ft 

Evening  Song.     By  John  Fletcher  S 

Night.     By  Robert  Southey  4 

A  Fine  Day.     By  Michael  Drayton  5 

The  Seasons.     By  Edmund  Spenser  5 

The  Eternal  Spring.     By  John  Milton  5 

March.     By  William  Cullen  Bryant  6 

Spring.     By  Thomas  Carew  7 

Song  to  April.     By  William  Watson  7 

April  in  England.     B}^  Robert  Browning  8 

April  and  May.     By  Ralph  TValdo  Emerson  9 

May.     B}^  Edmund  Spenser  9 

Song  on  May  Morning.     By  John  Milton  10 

Summer.     By  Edmund  Spenser  10 

June  Weather.     By  James  Russell  Lowell  11 

July.     By  Su^an  Hartley  Sxcett  13 

August.     By  Edmund  Spenser  14i 

In  August.     By  William  Dean  Howells  14 


CONTENTS 

A  CHANTED  CAJJENBAR—Contimied  page 

Autumn.     By  Edmund  Spenser  15 

Sweet  September.     By  George  Arnold  16 

Autumn's  Processional.     By  Dinah  M.  Mulock  16 

^  October's  Bright  Blue  Weather.     By  H.  H.  16 

]\Iaple  Loaves.     By  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  17 

Down  to  Sleep.     By  H.  H.  18 

Winter.     By  Edmund  Spcjiser  19 
When  Icicles  Hang  by  the  Wall.     By  William 

Shakespeare  19 

A  Winter  Morning.     By  James  Russell  Lowell  20 

The  Snow  Storm.     By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  21 

Old  Winter.     By  Thomas  Noel  22 

Midwinter.     By  John  Townsend  Trowbridge  23 

Dirge  for  the  Year.     By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  25 

THE  WORLD  BEAUTIFUL 

The  World  Beautiful.     By  John  Milton  27 
The    Harvest    Moon.      By    Henry    Wadsworth 

Longfellow  27 
The  Cloud.  By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  28 
Before  the  Rain.  By  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  31 
Rain  in  Summer.  By  Henry  Wadsworth  Long- 
fellow 32 
Invocation  to  Rain  in  Summer,     By  William  C. 

Bennett  34 

The  Latter  Rain.     By  Jones  Very  35 

The  Wind.     By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  35 


CONTENTS 

THE  WORLD  BEAUTIFUL— Co7itinued  p^g, 
Ode  to  the  Northeast  Wind.  By  Charles  Kings- 
let/  36 
The  Windy  Night.  By  Thomas  Buchanan  Read  39 
The  Brook.  By  Alfred,  Lord  Temiyson  40 
The  Brook  in  Winter.  By  James  Russell  Lowell  42 
Clear  and  Cool.  By  Charles  Kingsley  44 
Minnows.  By  John  Keats  45 
Snow-Bound  (Extracts).  By  John  G.  Whittier  46 
Highland  Cattle.  By  Dinah  M.  Muloch  50 
A  Scene  in  Paradise.  By  John  Milton  52 
The  Tiger.  By  William  Blake  53 
The  Spacious  Firmament  on  High.  By  Joseph 
Addison  54 

KREEN  THINGS  GROWING 

Green  Things  Growing.  By  Dinah  M.  Mulock  57 
The  Sigh  of  Silence.  By  John  Keats  58 
Under  the  Greenwood  Tree.  By  William  Shake- 
speare 59 
The  Planting  of  the  Apple  Tree.  By  William 
\  Cullen  Bryant  59 
The  Apple  Orchard  in  the  Spring.     By  William 

Martin  63 
Mine  Host  of  "  The  Golden  Apple."     By  Thom- 
as Westwood  64 
The  Tree.     By  Jones  Very  65 
A  Young  Fir-Wood.     By  Dante  G.  Rossetti  65 


CONTENTS 

GREEN  THINGS  GROWING— Coniimied 

The  Snowing  of  the  Pines.     By  Thomas  W.  Hig- 

g'nuson 
The  Procession  of  the  Flowers.     By  Sydney  Do- 
hell 
Sweet  Peas.     By  John  Keats 
A  Snowdrop.     By  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford 
Almond  Blossom.     By  Sir  Edwin  Arnold 
Wild  Rose.     By  William  AlUngham 
Tiger-Lilies.     By  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 
To  the  Fringed   Gentian.     By   William  Cullen 

Bryant 
To  a  Mountain  Daisy.     By  Robert  Burns 
Bind-Weed.     By  Susan  Coolidge 
The  Rhodora.     By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
A  Song  of  Clover.     By  "  Sa^e  Holm  " 
To  the  Dandelion  (Extract).     By  James  Russell 

Lowell 
To  Daffodils.     By  Robert  Herrick 
The  Daffodils.     By  William,  Wordsworth 
The  White  Anemone.     By  Owen  Meredith 
The  Grass.     By  Emily  Dickinson 
The  Corn-Song.     By  John  G.  Whittier 
Columbia's  Emblem.     By  Edna  Dean  Proctor 
Scythe  Song.     By  Andrew  Lang 
Time  to  Go.     By  Susan  Coolidge 
The  Death  of  the  Flowers.     By  William  Cullen 

Bryant 
Autumn's  Mirth.     By  Samuel  Minturn  Peck 


CONTENTS 

(  N  THE  WING  P^g, 

Sing  On,  Blithe  Bird.     By  William  Motherwell  93 

To  a  Skylark.     By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  94 
Sir  Lark  and  King  Sun :  A  Parable.  By  George 

Macdonald  99 

The  Skylark,     By  Frederick  Tennyson  101 

The  Skylark.     By  James  Hogg  102 

The  Bobolinks.     By  Christopher  P.  Cranch  103 

To  a  Waterfowl.     By  William  Cullen  Bryant  105 

Goldfinches.     By  John  Keats  107 

The  Sandpiper.     By  Celia  Thaxter  107 

The  Eagle.     By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  109 

Child's  Talk  in  April.     By  Christina  G.  Rossetti  109 
The  Flight  of  the  Birds.     By  Edmund  Clarence 

Stedman  111 

The  Shepherd's  Home.     By  William  Shenstone  112 

To  a  Cricket.     By  William  C.  Bennett  113 

On  the  Grasshopper  and  Cricket.     By  John  Keats  114 

The  Tax-Gathercr.     By  John  B.  Tabb  114 
To  the  Grasshopper  and  the  Cricket.     By  Leigh 

Hunt  115 

The  Bee.     By  Emily  Dickinson  116 

The  Humble-Bee.     By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  116 
All  Things  Wait  Upon  Thee.     By  Christkia  G. 

Rossetti  119 

Providence.     By  Reginald  Heber  119 


f  xiii  I 


CONTENTS 

THE  INGLENOOK  Page 
A    New    Household.      B^'^    Henry    Wads-worth 

Longfellow  121 
Two  Heavens.  By  Leigh  Hunt  121 
A  Song  of  Love.  By  "  Lewis  Carroll  "  122 
Mother's  Song.  Unknown  123 
The  Bonniest  Bairn  in  a'  the  Warl'.  By  Rob- 
ert Ford  125 
Cuddle  Doon.  B}^  Alexander  Anderson  126 
I  am  Lonely.  By  George  Eliot  128 
Brother  and  Sister.  By  George  Eliot  129 
Home.  By  William  Ernest  Henley  131 
Love  Will  Find  Out  the  Way.  Unknown  133 
The  Sailor's  Wife.  By  William  J.  MicUe  134 
Evening   at    the    Farm.      By    John    Townsend 

Trowbridge  136 

Home  Song.     By  Henry  W.  Longfellow  138 

Etude  Realiste.     By  Algernon  C.  Swinburne  139 

We  Are  Seven.     By  William  Wordsworth  141 

FAIRY  SONGS  AND  SONGS  OF  FANCY 

Puck  and  the  Fair3^     By  William  Shakespeare  145 

Lullaby  for  Titania.     By  William  Shakespeare  146 
Oberon   and   Titania   to  the   Fairy   Train.      By 

William  Shakespeare  147 
Ariel's  Songs.     By  William  Shakespeare  147 
Orpheus   with   His   Lute.     By    WilVrnm   Shake- 
speare 149 

I  xiv  ] 


CONTENTS 

'AIRY  SONGS  AND  SONGS  OF  FANCY— Cow- 

tinned  Page 
The  Arming  of  Pigwiggen.     By  Michael  Droij- 

ton  149 

Hesperus'  Song.     By  Ben  Jomon  151 

L'Allegro  (Extracts).     By  John  Mill  on  152 

Sabrina  Fair.     By  John  Milton  157 

Alexander's  Feast.     B^^  John  Dryden  158 

Kubla  Khan.     By  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  160 
The  Magic  Car  Moved  On.     By  Percy  Bysshe 

Shelley  162 
Arethusa.  By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  165 
The  Culprit  Fay  (Extracts).  By  Joseph  Rod- 
man Drake  168 
A  Myth.  By  Charles  Kingsley  173 
The  Fairy  Folk.  By  William  Allingham  174 
The  INIerman.  By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  177 
The  iVIermaid.  By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  178 
Bugle  Song.  By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  181 
The  Raven.  By  Edgar  Allan  Poe  182 
The  Bells.     By  Edgar  Allan  Poe  189 

5PORTS  AND  PASTIMES 

Blowing  Bubbles.     By   William  Allingham  195 

Bicycling  Song.     By  Henry  C.  Beeching  196 

Going  A  Maying.     By  Robert  Herrick  197 

Jog  On,  Jog  On.     By  WilUam  Shakespeare  200 

A  Vagabond  Song.     By  Bliss  Cai^man  201 

Swimming.     By  Algernon  C.  Sxvinburne  201 

[XV] 


CONTENTS 

SPOltTS  AND  FASTlMES—Co7itimied  Pag, 

Swimming.     By  Lord  Byron  202 

The  Angler's  Reveille.     By  Henry  van  Dyke  203 
The  Angler's  Invitation.     By  Thomas  Tod  Stod- 

dart  207 

Skating.     By   William  Wordsworth  207 

Reading.     By  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  209 
On  First  Looking  Into  Chapman's  Homer.     By 

John  Keats  210 
Music's  Silver  Sound.  By  William  Shake- 
speare 210 
The  Power  of  Music.  By  William  Shakespeare  211 
Descend,  Ye  Nine!  By  Alexander  Pope  212 
Old  Song.  By  Edward  Fitzgerald  213 
The  Barefoot  Boy.  By  John  G.  Whittier  214 
Leolin  and  Edith.  By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  218 
Going  A-Nutting.     By  Edmund  Clarence  Sted- 

man  219 

Whittling.     By  John  Pierpont  220 

Hunting  Song.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott  222 

The  Hunter's  Song.     By  Barry  Cornrvall  223 

The  Blood  Horse.     By  Barry  CornvmLl  225 

The  Northern  Seas.     By  William  Hni^itt  226 

The  Needle.     By  Samuel  Woodwctttk  228 

A  GARDEN  OF  GIRLS 

A  Portrait.     By  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  231 

Little  Bell.     By  Thomas  Westwood  234 

A  Child  of  Twelve.     By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  237 

[xvil 


CONTENTS 

A  GARDEN  OF  GIRLS—Conf'mucd  ^^ 

Chloe.  By  Robert  Burns  238 
O,  Mally's   Meek,   Mally's   Sweet.     By   Robert 

Burns  239 

Who  Is  Silvia?  By  William  Shakespeare  240 
To  Mistress  Margaret  Hussey.     By  John  Skel- 

ton  MO 

Ruth.     By  Thomas  Hood  242 

My  Peggy.     By  Allan  Ramsay  243 

Annie  Laurie.     By  William  Douglas                  .  243 

Lucy.     By  William  Wordsworth  245 

Jessie.     By  Bret  Harte  246 

Ohvia.     By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  247 

Nikolina.     By  Celia  Thaxter  248 

The  Solitary  Reaper.     By  William  Wordsworth  249 

Helena  and  Hermia.     By  William  Shakespeare  250 

Phyllis.     By  William,  Drummond  251 

So  Sweet  is  She.     By  Ben  Jonson  251 

I  Love  My  Jean.     By  Robert  Burns  252 

My  Nannie's  Awa'.     By  Robert  Burns  253 

THE  WORLD  OF  WATERS 

To  the  Ocean.  By  Lord  Byron  255 
A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave.  By  Epes  Sargent  257 
The  Sea.  By  Barry  Cornwall  258 
A  Sea-Song.  By  Allan  Cunningham  259 
A  Visit  from  the  Sea.  By  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son 261 
Drifting.     By  Thomas  Buchanan  Read  262 

[xvii] 


CONTENl-S 

THE  ^VORLD  OF  WAT'ERS— Continued  Pag, 

Tacking  Ship  Off  Shore.     By  Walter  Mitchell  265 

Windlass  Song.     By  William  Allmgham  268 

The  Coral  Grove.     By  James  Gates  Percival  268 

The  Shell.     By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  270 

Bermudas.     By  Andrew  Marvell  272 
Where    Lies    the    Land.?      By    Arthur    Hugh 

Clough  273 

FOR  HOME  AND  COUNTRY 

The  First,  Best  Country.  By  Oliver  Gold- 
smith 275 
My  Native  Land.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott  276 
Loyalty.  By  Allan  Curminghami  276 
My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands.  By  Robert  Burns  9,11 
The  Minstrel  Boy.  By  Thomas  Moore  278 
The  Harp  that  Once  Through  Tara's  Halls.     By 

Thomas  Moore  279 

Fife  and  Drum.     By  John  Dry  den  280 

The  Cavalier's  Song.     By  William  Motherwell  280 
The  Old  Scottish  Cavalier.      By  Wm.  Edmond- 

stoune  Aytoun  281 

The  Song  of  the  Camp.     By  Bayard  Taylor  284 

Border  Ballad.     By  Sir  Walter  Sroti  286 
Gathering  Song  of  Donuil  Dhu.     By  Sir  Walter 

Scott  gs^'Y 
The  Reveille.     By  Bret  Harte  288 
Ye  Mariners  of  England.     By  Thomas  Camp- 
bell 290 

[  xviii  ] 


CONTENTS 

FOR  HOME  AND  COUNTRY— Contmued  Page 
The  Knight's  Tomb.  By  Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge 292 
How  Sleep  the  Brave!  By  William  Collins  292 
Dirge.  By  Thomas  William  Parsons  293 
The   Burial   of   Sir   John   Moore.     By   Charles 

Wolfe  295 

Soldier,  Rest !     By  Sir  Walter  Scott  296 

Recessional.     By  Rudyard  Kipling  297 

The  Fatherland.     By  James  Russell  Lowell  298 

NEW  WORLD  AND  OLD  GLORY 

Dear  Land  of  All  My  Love.     By  Sidney  Lanier  301 
Columbus.     By  Joaquin  Miller  301 
Pocahontas.     By    William    Makepeace    Thack- 
eray 303 
Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers.      By  Felicia 

Hemans  305 
The  Twenty-second  of  December.     By  William 

Cullen  Bryant  306 

Washington.     By  James  Russell  Lowell  307 

Warren's  Address.     By  John  Pierpont  308 
Carmen  Bollicosum.     By  Guy  Humphreys  Mc- 

Master  809 
The    American    Flag.       By    Joseph     Rodman 

Drake  311 

Old  Ironsides.     By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  312 

Indians.     By  Charles  Sprague  313 

Crossing  the  Plains.      By  Joaquin  Miller  314 

[xix] 


CONTENTS 

NEW  WORLD  AND  OLD  GLORY— Continued  ^^ 
Concord  Hjmn.  By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  315 
Ode.  By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  316 
Stanzas  on  Freedom.  By  James  Russell  Lowell  317 
Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Richard  Henry  Stoddard  318 
Lincoln,  the  Great  Commoner.  By  Edwin  Mark- 
ham  319 
Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Henry  Howard  Brownell  321 
O  Captain !  My  Captain  !  By  Walt  Whitman  323 
The  Flag  Goes  By.  By  Henry  Holcomb  Ben- 
nett 324 
The  Black  Regiment.  By  George  Henry  Boker  326 
Night  Quarters.  By  Henry  Howard  Brownell  329 
Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic.     By  Julia  Ward 

Howe  331 
Sheridan's  Ride.  By  Thomas  Buchanan  Read  332 
Song  of  the  Negro  Boatman.  By  John  G.  Whit- 
tier  335 
Barbara  Frietchic.  By  John  G.  Whittier  337 
Two  Veterans.  By  Walt  Whitman  340 
Stand  by  the  Flag !  By  John  Nichols  Wilder  342 
At  Gibraltar.  By  George  Edward  Woodberry  343 
Faith  and  Freedom.  By  WilUam  V/ordsworth  345 
Our  INIothor  Tongue.  By  Lord  Houghton  345 
The  English  Language  (Extracts).  By  William 

Wetmore  Story  346 

To  America.     By  Alfred  Austin  347 
The  Name  -if  Old  Glory.     By  James  Whitcomh 

Riley  34,9 


CONTENTS 

IN  MERRY  MOOD  page 

On  a  Favorite  Cat,  Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Gold- 
fishes.    By  Thomas  Gray  353 
The  Priest  and  the  Mulberry  Tree.     By  Thomas 

Love  Peacock  355 

The  Council  of  Horses.     By  John  Gay  356 

The    Diverting    History    of    John    Gilpin.     By 

William  Cowper  359 

To  a  Child  of  Quality.     By  Matthew  Prior  369 

Charade.     By  Winthrop  M.  Praed  370 

A  Riddle.     By  Hannah  More  371 

A  Riddle.     By  Jonathan  Swift  372 

A  Riddle.     By  Catherine  M.  Fanshawe  373 

Feigned     Courage.      By     Charles     and     Mary 

Lamb  374 

Baucis  and  Philemon.     By  Jonathan  Swift  375 

The  Lion  and  the  Cub.     By  John  Gay  378 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog.     By  Oliver 

Goldsmith  379 

The   Walrus   and   the    Carpenter.     By    "  Lewis 

Carroll  "  381 

Song  of  the  Turtle  and  Flamingo.     By  James 

T.  Fields  385 

Captain  Reece.     By  William  S.  Gilbert  387 

The  Cataract  of  Lodore.     By  Robert  Southey       391 
The  Enchanted  Shirt.      By  John  Hay  395 

Made  in  the  Hot  Weather.     By  William  Ernest 

Henley  398 

The  Housekeeper.     By  Charles  Lamb  400 

[xxi] 


CONTENTS 

IN  MERRY  MOOD— Continued  ^^^ 

The  Monkey.     By  Mart/  Horvitt  401 

November.     By  Thomas  Hood  40:S 

Captain  Sword.     By  Leigh  Hunt  403 

STORY  rOEMS :     ROMANCE  AND  REALITY 

The  Singing  Leaves.     By  Jaines  Russell  Lowell     407 
Seven  Times  Two.     By  Jean  Ingclow  411 

The  Long  White  Seam.     By  Jean  Ingelow  413 

Hannah  Binding  Shoes.     By  Lucy  Larcom  414 

Lord  UlHn's  Daughter.     By  Thomas  Camiihell     416 
The  King  of  Denmark's  Ride.     By  Caroline  E. 

Norton  418 

The   Shepherd   to   His   Love.     By    Christopher 

Marlowe  420 

Ballad.     By  Charles  Kingsley  422 

Romance    of   the    Swan's    Nest.     By    Elizabeth 

Barrett  Browning  423 

Lochinvar.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott  42T 

Jock  of  Hazeldean.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott  430 

The  Lady  of  Shalott.     By  Alfred,  Lord  Tenny- 
son 431 
The  High  Tide  on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire. 

By  Jean  Ingelow  438 

The  Forsaken  Merman.     By  Matthew  Arnold       444 
The  Sands  of  Dee.     By  Charles  Kingsley  450 

The  "  Gray  Swan."     By  Alice  Cary  452 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus.     By  Henry   W. 
Longfellow  ^54 

[xxii] 


CONTENTS 

«TORY  POEMS:    ROMANCE  AND  REALITY 

— Continued  Pago 

A  Greyport  Legend.     By  Bret  Harte  458 

The  Glove  and  the  Lions.     By  Leigh  Hunt  460 

How's  My  Boy?     By  Sydney  Dohell  462 

The  Child-Musician.     By  Austin  Boh 80%.  463 

How  They  Brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent 

to  Aix.     By  Robert  Browning  464 

The  Inchcape  Rock.     By  Robert  Southey  468 

A  Night  with  a  Wolf.     By  Bayard  Taylor  471 

The  Dove  of  Dacca.     By  Rudyard  Kipling  472 

The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen.  By  William  Allingham     474 
The    Cavalier's    Escape.     By    George     Walter 

TTiornbury  479 

The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin.  By  Robert  Brown- 
ing 480 
Herve  Riel.  By  Robert  Browning  493 
Vision  of  Belshazzar.  By  Lord  Byron  500 
Solomon  and  the  Bees.  By  John  G.  Saxe  502 
The  Burial  of  i\Ioses.  By  Cecil  Frances  Alex- 
ander                                                                           504 

WHEN  BANNERS  ARE  WAVING 

When  Banners  Are  Waving.      Unknown  509 

Battle  of  the  Baltic.     By  Thomas  Campbell  511 

The    Pipes    at   Lucknow.     By    John    Greenleaf 

Whittier  514 

The  Battle  of  Agincourt.      By  Michael  Dray- 
ton 517 

f  xxiix  ] 


CONlExNTS 

WHEN     BANNERS      ARE      WAVING— Con- 

tinued  Page 

The  Battle  of  Blenheim.     By  Robert  Southey  522 

The  Armada.     By  Lord  Macaulay  524< 

Ivry.  By  Lord  Macaulay  530 
On  the  Loss  of  the  Royal  George.     By  William 

Cowper  535 
The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,     By  Alfred, 

Lord  Tennyson  53T 

Bannockburn.     By  Robert  Burns  539 

The  Night  Before  Waterloo.     By  Lord  Byron  540 

Hohenlinden.  By  Thomas  Campbell  542 
Incident    of    the    French    Camp.      By    Robert 

Browning  544 

Marco  Bozzaris.  By  Fitz-Greene  Halleck  545 
The    Destruction    of    Sennacherib.       B}'    Lord 

Byron  548 

TALES  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME 

Sir  Patrick  Spens.      Old  Ballad  551 

The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of  Islington.  Old  Ballad  555 
King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury.     Old 

Ballad  558 

Lord  Beichan  and  Susie  Pye.     Old  Ballad  563 

The  Gay  Gos-hawk.     Old  Ballad  569 

Earl  Mar's  Daughter.     Old  Ballad  576 

Chevy-Chace.     Old  Ballad  582 

Hynde  Horn.     Old  Ballad  593 

Glenlogic.     Old  Ballad  597 


CONTENTS 

LIFE  LESSONS  P^g, 

Life.     By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  601 

In  a  Child's  Album.     By  William  Wordsworth  602 

To-Day.     By  Thomas  Carlyle  602 

The  Noble  Nature.     By  Ben  Jonson  603 

Forbearance.     By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  603 
The  Chambered   Nautilus.     By  Oliver   Wendell 

Holmes  604 

Duty.     By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  605 

On  His  Blindness.     B}^  John  Milton  606 
Sir  Launfal  and  the  Leper.     By  James  Russell 

Lowell  606 

Opportunity.     By  Edward  Rowland  Sill  608 
Abou   Ben   Adhem  and  the  Angel.     By   Leigh 

Hunt  609 
Be  True.  By  Horatio  Bonar  610 
The  Shepherd  Boy  Sings  in  the  Valley  of  Humil- 
iation. By  John  Bunyan  610 
A  Turkish  Legend.  By  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  611 
Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard.     By 

Thomas  Gray  612 

Polonius  to  Laertes.     By  William  Shakespeare  618 

The  Olive-Tree.     By  S.  Barvng-Gould  619 

Coronation.     By  H.  H.  620 

December.     By  John  Keats  622 
The  End  of  the  Play.     By  William  Makepeace 

Thackeray  623 

A  Farewell.     By  Charles  Kingsley  625 

A  Boy's  Prayer.     By  Henry  C.  Beechvng  626 

[xsv] 


CONTENTS 

LIFE  LESSOlSi^—Confimied  ,^ 

Chartless.     By  Emily  Dickinson  626 

Peace.     By  Henry  Vaughan  627 

Consider.     By  Christiim  G.  Rossetti  628 

The  Elixir.     By  George  Herbert  629 

One  by  One.     By  Adelaide  A.  Procter  629 
The  Commonwealth  of  the  Bees.     By    William 

Shakespeare  631 

The  Pilgrim.     By  John  Bunyan  632 

Be  Useful.     By  George  Herbert  633 

THE  GLAD  EVANGEL 

A  Christmas  Carol.     By  Josiah  Gilbert  Holland  635 

The  Angels.     By  William  Drummond  636 
While    Shepherds    Watched    Their    Flocks    by 

Night.     By  Margaret  B eland  637 

The  Star  Song.     By  Robert  Herrick  638 

Hymn  for  Christmas.     By  Felicia  Hemans  639 

New  Prince,  New  Pomp.     By  Robert  Southwell  640 
The     Three     Kings.     By     Henry     Wadsworth 

Longfellow  641 

The  Three  Kings.     By  Eugene  Field  644 

A  Christmas  Hymn.     By  Alfred  Dommett  646 
O    Little    Town    of    Bethlehem.      By    Phillips 

Brooks  648 
While    Shepherds    Watched    Their    Flocks    by 

Night.     By  Nahum  Tate  649 

Christmas  Carol.     Old  English  650 

Old  Christmas.     By  Mary  Howitt  652 

[  xxvi  ] 


CONTENTS 

THE  GLAD  m' ANGF,l.—CunUnued  P^g. 
God    Rest    Ye,    Merry    Gentlemen.     By    Dinah 

Maria  Mulock  653 

Minstrels  and  Maids.     By  WilUam  Morris  654 
An  Ode  on  the  Birth  of  Our  Saviour.  By  Robert 

Herrick  656 

Old  Christmas  Returned.     Old  English  657 

Ceremonies  for  Christmas.     By  Robert  Herrick  658 

Christmas  in  England.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott  659 

The  Gracious  Time.     By  William  Shakespeare  661 
Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Sons  of  the  Morning. 

By  Reginald  Heber  661 


INTRODUCTION 

On  the  Reading  of  Poetry 


X  HERE  is  no  doubt,  I  fear,  that  certain 
people  are  born  witliout,  as  certain  other  people 
are  horn  with,  a  love  of  poetry.  Any  natural 
gift  is  a  great  advantage,  of  course,  he  it  physi- 
cal, mental,  or  spiritual.  The  dear  old  talcs 
which  suggest  the  presence  of  fairies  at  the 
cradle  of  the  nerv-horn  child,  dealing  out, 
not  very  impartially,  talents,  charms,  graces^ 
are  not  so  far  from  the  real  truth.  You 
may  have  heen  given  a  straight  nose,  a 
rosy  cheek,  a  courteous  manner,  a  lively 
wit,  a  generous  disposition;  hut  perhaps  the 
Fairy  Fine-Ear,  who  hears  the  grass  grow,  and 
the  leaf-huds  throh,  had  a  pressing  engage- 
ment at  somebody  else^s  cradle-side  when 
you  most  needed  her  benefactions.  There  is 
another  elf  too,  a  Dame  o'  Dreams;  she  is  clad 
all  in  color-of-rose,  and  when  she  touches  your 
eyelids  you  see  visions  forever  after;  beautiful 
haunting  things  hidden  from  duller  eyes,  visions 
made  of  stars  and  dew  and  magic.  Never  any 
great  poet  lived  but  these  two  fairies  were  present 
at  his  birth,  and,  it  may  be  that  they  stole  a 


INTRODUCTION 

moment  to  visit  you.  If  such  was  the  case  you 
love,  need,  crave  poetry,  to  understand  yourself ^ 
your  neighbor,  the  world,  God;  and  you  will  find 
that  nothing  else  will  satisfy  you  so  completely 
as  the  years  go  on.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  these 
highly  mythical  hut  interesting  personages  were 
absent  when  the  question  of  your  natural  endow- 
ment was  being  settled,  do  not  take  it  too  much 
to  heart,  but  try  to  make  good  the  deficiencies. 

You  must  have  liked  the  rhymes  and  jingles 
of  your  nursery-days : 

Ride  a  Cock-horse 
To  Banbury  Cross/ 

or 

Mistress  Mary  quite  contrary 
How  does  your  garden  grow  ? 

I  am  certain  you  remember  what  pleasure  it 
gave  you  to  make  "  contrary  "  rhyme  with 
"  Mary  "  instead  of  pronouncing  it  in  the  proper 
and  prosy  way. 

"  But,"  you  answer,  "  I  did  indeed  like  that 
sort  of  verse,  and  am  still  fond  of  it  when  it 
dances  and  prances,  or  trips  and  patters  and 
tinkles;  it  is  what  is  termed  "  sublime  "  poetry 
that  is  dull  and  difficult  to  understand ;  the  verb 
is  always  a  long  distance  from  its  subject;  the 
punctuation  comes  in  the  middle  of  the  lines,  so 
that  it  reads  like  prose  in  spite  of  one,  and  it  is 

[  xxxii) 


INTRODUCTION 

generally  sprinkled  -with  allusions  to  Calypso^ 
(Edipus,  Eurydice,  Hesperus,  Corydon,  Are- 
thusa,  and  the  Acroceraunian  Mountains;  or  at 
any  rate  mith  people  and  places  which  one  has 
to  look  up  in  the  atlas  and  dictionary." 

Of  coiirse,  all  poems  are  not  equally  simple  in 
sound  and  sense.  It  does  not  require  much  in- 
telligence to  read  or  chant  Foe's  Raven,  and  if 
one  does  not  quite  understand  it,  one  is  so  taken 
captive  by  the  weird,  haunting  music  of  the  lines, 
the  recurrence  of  phrases  and  repetition  of  words, 
that  one  does  not  think  about  its  meaning: 

"  While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there   came  a 

tapping. 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
**Tis  some  visitor,'  I  muttered,  '■tapping  at  my  chamber 

door — 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more.''  " 

The  moment,  however,  that  your  eye  falls  upon 
the  following  lines  from  "  Paradise  Lost  "  you 
confess  privately  that  if  you  were  obliged  to 
parse  and  analyze  them  the  task  would  cause  yow 
a  weary  half-hour  with  Lindley  Murray  or 
Quackenbos. 

"  Adam,  the  goodliest  men  cf  men  since  bom 
His  sons;  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve. 
Under  a  tuft  of  shade  that  on  a  green 
Stood  whispering  soft,  by  a  fresh  fountain-sici*t 
They  sat  them,  down  ;  " 

(  xxxiii  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

or  that  they  will  stand  the  test  of  time  and  expe- 
rience. 

So  you  will  find  between  these  covers^  we  hope, 
a  little  of  everything  good,  for  we  have  searched 
the  pages  of  the  great  English-speaking  poets 
to  find  verses  that  you  ivould  either  love  at  first 
sight,  or  that  you  would  grow  to  care  for  as  you 
learn  what  is  worthy  to  be  loved.  Where  we 
found  one  beautiful  verse,  quite  simple  and 
wholly  beautiful,  we  have  given  you  that,  if  it 
held  a  complete  thought  or  painted  a  pict'^ire 
perfect  in  itself,  even  although  we  omitted  the 
very  next  one,  which  perhaps  would  have  puz- 
zled and  wearied  the  younger  ones  with  its  vn- 
volved  construction  or  difficult  phraseology. 

Will  you  think,  I  wonder,  that  this  very  sim- 
ple talk  is  too  informal  to  be  quite  proper  when 
one  remembers  that  it  is  to  serve  as  introduction 
to  the  greatest  poets  that  ever  lived?>  Infor- 
mality is  very  charming  in  its  place,  no  doubt 
{for  so  the  thought  might  cross  your  mind), 
but  one  does  not  use  it  with  kings  and  queens; 
still  the  least  things,  you  knoxv,  may  sometimes 
explain  or  interpret  the  greatest.  The  brook 
might  say,  "  I  am  nothing  in  myself,  I  know, 
but  I  am  showing  you  the  way  to  the  ocean; 
follow  on  if  you  wish  to  see  something  really 
vast  and  magnificent." 

There  are  besides  gracious  courtesies  to  be  oh" 
\  xxxvi  1 


TN^RODITCTION 

srrved  m  certain  occasions.  If  a  famous  poet  or 
author  should  chance  to  come  to  your  village  or 
city  and  appear  before  the  people,  someone  would 
have  to  introduce  the  stranger  and  commend 
him  to  your  attention;  and  if  he  did  it  modestly 
it  would  only  he  an  act  of  kindliness ;  a  wish  to 
serve  you  and  at  the  same  time  bespeak  for  him 
a  gentle  and  a  friendly  hearing.  Once  intro- 
duced— Presto,  change!  If  he  is  a  great  poet 
he  is  a  great  wizard;  the  words  he  uses,  the 
method  and  manner  in  which  he  uses  them,  the 
cadence  of  his  verse,  the  thoughts  he  calls  to 
your  mind,  the  way  he  brings  the  quick  color  to 
your  cheek  and  the  tear  to  your  eye,  all  these 
savor  of  magic,  nothing  else.  Who  could  be 
less  than  modest  in  his  presence?  Who  could 
but  wish  to  bring  the  whole  world  under  his 
spell?  You  will  readily  be  modest,  too,  when 
you  confront  these  splendid  poems,  even  al- 
though some  of  you  may  not  wholly  compre- 
hend as  yet  their  grandeur  and  their  majesty; 
may  not  fully  understand  their  claim  to  immor- 
'  tality.  Where  is  there  a  girl  who  would  not 
make  a  low  curtsey  to  Shakespeare^s  Silvia,  Mil- 
ton''s  Sabrina,  Wordsworth's  Lucy,  or  Mrs. 
Browning's  Elizabeth?  And  if  there  is  a  boy 
who  coidd  stand  with  his  head  covered  before 
Horatius,  Herve  Riel,  Sir  Launfal,  or  Mother- 

Well's  Cavalier  he  is  not  one  of  those  we  had  in 

I  xxxvii  ] 


iiSTRODUCTiON 

mind  when  we  made  this  hook.  JSl  either  is  it 
altogether  the  personality  of  hero  or  heroine 
that  fills  us  with  reverence;  it  is  the  beauty 
and  perfection  of  the  poem  itself  that  almost 
brings  us  to  our  knees  in  worship.  A  little  later 
on  you  will  have  the  same  feeling  of  admiration 
and  awe  for  Shelley ^s  Skylark,  Emerson's  Snow 
Storm,  Wordsworth's  Daffodils,  Keats's  Day- 
break, and  for  many  another  poem  not  included 
in  this  book,  to  which  you  must  hope  to  grow. 
For  it  is  a  matter  of  growth  after  all,  and 
growth,  in  mind  and  spirit,  as  in  body,  is  largely 
a  matter  of  will.  It  is  all  ours,  the  beauty  in 
the  world:  your  task  is  merely  to  enter  into  pos- 
session. Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  Shakespeare 
are  yours  as  much  as  another's.  The  great 
treasury  of  inspiring  thoughts  that  has  been 
heaped  together  as  the  ages  went  by,  that  "  rich 
deposit  of  the  centuries,''  is  your  heritage;  if 
you  wish  to  assert  your  heirship  no  one  can  say 
you  nay;  if  you  will  to  be  a  Croesus  in  the  things 
of  the  mind  and  spirit,  no  one  can  ever  keep  you 
poor. 

We  have  brought  you  only  English  verse,  so 
you  must  wait  for  the  years  to  give  you  Homer, 
Virgil,  Dante,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Victor  Hugo, 
and  many  another;  and  of  English  verse  we 
have  only  given  a  hint  of  the  treasures  in  store 
for  you  later  on. 

{  xxxvm  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

We  have  quoted  you  poems  from  the  grcmd 
old  masters,  those  "  hards  sublime," 

"■  Wliose  diMant  footsteps  echo 
Through  the  corridors  of  Tvmey" 

and  many  a  verse: — 

—  ''''  from,  some  humbler  poet 
Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart 
As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer^ 
Or  fiinrs  from  the  eyelids  start  ; 
Who  through  long  days  of  labor. 
And  nights  devoid  of  ease. 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 
Of  wonderful  melodies. " 

Since  you  will  not  like  everything  in  the  book 
equally  well,  may  we  advise  you  how  to  use  it? 
First  find  something  you  know  and  love,  and 
read  it  over  again.  (Penitent,  indeed,  shall  we 
he  if  it  has  been  omitted!)  The  meeting  will  be 
like  one  with  a  dear  playfellow  and  friend  in  a 
new  and  strange  house,  and  the  house  xvill  seem 
less  strange  after  you  have  met  and  welcomed  the 
friend. 

Then  search  the  pages  until  you  see  a  verse 
that  speaks  to  you  instantly,  catches  your  eye, 
begs  you  to  read  it,  willy-nilly.  There  are 
dozens  of  such  poems  in  this  collection,  as  simple 
as  if  they  had  been  written  for  six-year-olds 
vnstead  of  for  the  groum-up  English-speaking 


INTRODUCTION 

■world:  little  masterpieces  like  Tennyson  s  Brook, 
Kvngsley's  Clear  and  Cool,  Shakespeare's  Fairy 
Songs,  Burns' s  Mountain  Daisy,  Emerson's  Rho- 
dora,  Motherwell's  Blithe  Bird,  Hogg's  Skylark, 
Wordsworth's  Pet  Lamb,  Scott's  Ballads,  and 
scores  of  others. 

This  so  far  is  pure  pleasure,  hut  why  not,  as 
another  step,  find  something  difficult,  something 
you  instinctively  draw  hack  from?  It  will  proh 
ahly  he  Milton^  Pope,  Dryden,  Browning,  or 
Shelley.  You  cannot  find  any  "  story  "  in  it;  its 
rhymes  do  not  run  trippingly  off  the  tongue; 
there  are  a  few  strange  and  unpronounceable 
words,  the  punctuation  and  phrasing  puzzle  you, 
and  worse  than  all  you  are  obliged  to  read  it 
two  or  three  times  before  you  really  understand 
its  meaning.  Very  well,  that  is  nothing  to  he 
ashamed  of,  and  you  surely  do  not  want  to  he 
vanquished  by  a  difficulty.  You  will  realize 
some  time  or  other  that  all  learning,  like  all  life, 
is  a  sort  of  obstacle  race  in  which  the  strongest 
wins. 

I  once  said  to  a  dear  old  minister  who  was 
preaching  to  a  very  ignorant  and  unlearned 
congregation,  "  It  must  be  very  difficidt,  sir,  for 
you  to  preach  down  to  them  ";  for  he  was  a  man 
of  rare  scholarship  and  true  wisdom; — "  /  try  to 
be  very  simple  a  part  of  the  time,"  he  answered^ 
"  but  not  always;  about  once  a  month  i  flvng 


INTRODUCTION 

the  fodder  so  high  in  the  rack  that  no  man  can 
catch  at  a  single  straw  without  stretching  his 
neck!  " 

Now  pray  do  not  laugh  at  that  illustration; 
smile  if  you  will,  but  it  serves  the  piirpose. 
Just  as  we  develop  our  muscles  by  exercising  our 
bodies,  so  do  we  grow  strong  mentally  and  spir- 
itually by  this  "  stretching  "  process.  You  are 
not  obliged  to  love  an  impersonal,  remote,  or 
complex  poem  intimately  and  passionately,  but 
read  it  faithfully  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  wholly 
blind  and  deaf  to  beauties  of  sense  or  sound  that 
happier  people  see  and  hear.  Joubert  says  most 
truly:  "  You  will  -find  poetry  nowhere  unless 
you  bring  some  with  you,"  but  there  are  some 
splendid  things  in  verse  as  in  prose  that  you 
stand,  in  too  great  awe  of  to  love  in  any  real, 
childlike  way.  It  is  never  scenes  from  Paradise 
Lost  that  run  through  your  mind  when  you  are 
going  to  sleep.     It  is  something  with  a  lilt,  like: 

"  Up  the  airy  mountain, 
Down  the  rushy  glen. 
We  darerUt  go  Or-hunting 
For  fear  of  little  men  ;  " 

or  a  poem  with  a  gallant  action  in  it  like  Marco 
Bozzaris,  or  with  a  charming  story  like  The 
Singing  Leaves,  or  a  mysterious  and  musical  one^ 
like  Kubla  Khan  or  The  Bells,  or  something  that 

fxli] 


INTRODUCTION 

vhen  first  you  read  it  made  you  a  little  older 
and  a  little  sadder,  in  an  odd,  unaccustomed  way 
quite  unlike  that  of  real  grief : 

"  A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing 
That  is  not  akin  to  pain 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 
As  the  mist  resembles  rain." 

When  you  read  that  verse  of  Longfellow^s  after- 
wards you  see  that  he  has  expressed  your  mood 
exactly.  That  is  what  it  means  to  be  a  poet, 
and  that  is  what  poetry  is  always  doing  for  us; 
revealing,  translating  thoughts  we  are  capablt 
of  feeling,  but  not  expressing. 

Perhaps  you  will  not  for  a  long  time  see  the 
beauty  of  certain  famous  reflective  poem^  like 
Gray^s  Elegy,  but  we  must  include  a  few  of  such 
things  whether  they  appeal  to  you  very  strongly 
or  not,  merely  because  it  is  necessary  that  you 
should  have  an  acquaintance,  if  not  a  friend- 
ship, with  lines  that  the  world  by  common  con- 
sent has  agreed  to  call  immortal.  They  show 
you,  zinthout  your  being  conscious  of  it,  show 
you  by  their  lines  "  all  gold  and  seven  times 
refilled," — how  beautiful  the  English  language 
can  be  when  it  is  used  by  a  master  of  style. 
Young  people  do  not  think  or  talk  very  much 
about  style,  but  they  come  under  its  spell  unr 
consciously  and  respond  to  its  influence  quickly 

[xiii] 


INTRODUCTION 

enough.  To  give  a  sort  of  definition:  style  it  a 
way  of  saying  or  writing  a  thing  so  that  people 
are  compelled  to  listen.  When  you  grow  sensi- 
tive to  beauty  of  language  you  became,  in  some 
small  degree  at  least,  capable  of  using  it  your- 
self. You  could  n^t,  for  instance,  read  daily 
these  "  honey-tongued  "  poets  without  gather- 
ing a  little  sweetness  for  your  own  unruly  mem- 
ber. 

There  are  certain  spiritual  lessons  to  be 
gained  from  many  of  these  immortal  poems, 
lessons  which  the  oldest  as  well  as  the  youngest 
might  well  learn.  Turn  to  Milton's  Ode  on  his 
Blindness.  It  is  not  easy  reading,  but  you  w^ 
begin  to  care  for  it  when  experience  brings  you 
the  meaning  of  the  line,  "  They  also  serve  who 
only  stand  and  wait."  It  is  one  of  a  class  of 
poems  that  have  been  living  forces  from  age  to 
age;  that  have  quickened  aspiration,  aroused 
energy,  deepened  conviction;  that  have  infused 
a  nobler  ardor  and  loftier  purpose  into  life 
wherever  and  whenever  they  were  read. 

Prefacing  each  of  the  divisions  of  this  volume 
you  will  find  a  page  or  "  interleaf  "  of  comment 
on,  and  appreciation  of,  the  poems  that  follow. 
These  pages  you  may  read  or  not  as  you  are 
minded;  they  are  only  friendly  or  informal  let- 
ters from  an  old  traveller  to  a  pilgrim  who  hat 
just  taken  his  staff  ir  hand. 

[  xliii  1 


INTRODUCTION 

By  and  hy  you  will  add  poem  after  poem  to 
your  list  of  favorites,  and  so,  gradually,  you  will 
make  your  own  volume  of  Golden  Numbers, 
which  will  be  far  better  than  any  book  we  can 
fashion  for  you.  Perhaps  you  will  copy  single 
verses  and  whole  poems  in  it  and,  later,  learn 
them  by  heart.  Such  treasures  of  memory 
"  will  henceforth  no  longer  be  forgettable,  de- 
tachable parts  of  your  mind's  furniture,  but 
well-springs  of  instinct  forever." 

Kate  Douglas  WiggiNc 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


INTERLEAVES 


A    Chanted  Calendar 

Here  is  the  Yearns  Processional  in  verse;  the  story  of  her 
hours,  her  days,  her  seasons,  told  as  only  poets  can,  be- 
cause they  see  and  hear  things  not  revealed  to  you  and 
me,  and  are  able  hy  their  magic  to  make  us  sharers  in 
the  revelation.  Read  the  -first  six  poems  and  ask  your- 
self whether  you  have  ever  realized  the  glories  of  the 
common  day;  from  the  moment  when  morning  from  her 
orient  chambers  comes,  and  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate 
sings,  to  the  hour  when  the  moon,  unveiling  her  peerless 
light,  throws  her  silver  mantle  o'er  the  dark,  and  the 
firmament  glows  with  living  sapphires. 
It  is  the  task  of  poetry  not  only  to  say  noble  things, 
but  to  say  them  nobly;  having  beautiful  fancies,  to 
clothe  them  in  beautiful  phrases,  and  if  you  search  these 
poems  you  will  find  some  of  the  most  wonderful  word- 
pictures  in  the  English  language.  How  charming  Dray- 
ton's description  of  tJie  summer  breeze: 

*'  The  wind  had  no  more  strength  than  this. 
That  leisurely  it  blew. 
To  make  one  leaf  the  next  to  kiss 
That  closely  by  it  grew." 

If  the  day  is  dreary  you  need  only  read  Lowell's  "  Jum 
Weather,"  and  like  the  bird  sitting  at  his  door  in  the 
sun,  atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leave c,  your  "  illu- 
mined being  "  xdll  overrun  mth  the  "  dehige  of  sum- 
mer it  receives." 

The7i  turn  the  page  ;  the  pictwre  fades  as  ymt  '-ead  Trow- 
bruige''s  "  Midicinter.'^  The  speckled  sky  is  dim  ,•  the  light 
fares  falter  and  fall  slow  ;  the  chickadee  sings  cheerily ,  los, 
the  mag^  touch  again  and  the  house  mates  sit^  as  Emersion 
9au  ther/ty 

'*  Around  the  radiant  fireplace  enclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm." 


t 

A  CHANTED   CALENDAR 

Daybreak 

ir  AY  had  awakened  all  things  that  be, 
The  lark,  and  the  thrush,  and  the  swallow  free, 
And  the  milkmaid's  song,  and  the  mower's  scythe. 
And  the  matin  bell  and  the  mountain  bee : 
Fireflies  were  quenched  on  the  dewy  corn. 
Glowworms  went  out,  on  the  river's  brim. 
Like  lamps  which  a  student  forgets  to  trim : 
The  beetle  forgot  to  wind  his  horn. 
The  crickets  were  still  in  the  meadow  and  hill : 
Like  a  flock  of  rooks  at  a  farmer's  gun, 
Night's  dreams  and  terrors,  every  one. 
Fled  from  the  brains  which  are  its  prey. 
From  the  lamp's  death  to  the  morning  ray. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley, 


Morning 

Now  morning  from  her  orient  chambers  came. 
And  her  first  footsteps  touch'd  a  verdant  hill : 
Crowning  its  lawny  crest  with  amber  flame. 
Silvering  the  untainted  gushes  of  its  rill. 
Which,  pure  from  mossy  beds  of  simple  flowers. 
B^'  many  streams  a  little  lake  did  fill, 

[IJ 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A        Which  round  its  marge  reflected  woven  bowers, 

Chanted  ^^d,  in  its  middle  space,  a  sky  that  never  lowers 
Calendar  ^  ^ 

John  Keats. 


A  Morning  Song 

Hark !  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies; 
And  winking  Marj-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes: 
With  every  thing  that  pretty  bin. 
My  lady  sweet,  arise: 
Arise,  arise! 

William  Shakespeaee. 
From  "  CymheUne." 

Evening  in  Paradise 

Now  came  still  Evening  on,  and  Twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad; 
Silence  accompanied;  for  beast  and  bird — 
The}''  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests, 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale; 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung ; 
Silence  was  pleased :  now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires:  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  Moon, 

[21 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

dising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length  A 

f^^pparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light,  than/cd 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 

From  "  Paradise  Lost.''            John  MiLTOii.  f 

r 

Evening  Song 

^n  ^f  *Jv  V  ^  t|C 

Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair, 
Fold  your  flocks  up,  for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thicken,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 
See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is, 
Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads, 
Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads: 
See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling. 
And  bright   Hesperus  down  calling 
The  dead  Night  from  under  ground; 
At  whose  rising,  mists  unsound. 
Damps  and  vapors  fly  apace. 
Hovering  o'er  the  wanton  face 
Of  these  pastures,  where  they  come,, 
Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom: 
Therefore,  from  such  danger  lock 
Every  one  his  loved  flock ; 
And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without* 
Lest  the  wolf  come  as  a  scout 
From  the  mountain,  and,  ere  day, 
13] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A  Bear  a  lamb  or  kid  away ; 

Chanted  Qr  the  crafty  thievish  fox 

Calendar  ^       ^  •       i     «     i 

Break  upon  your  simple  nocks. 

▼  To  secure  yourselves  from  these, 

Be  not  too  secure  in  ease; 

Let  one  eye  his  watches  keep, 

Whilst  the  other  eye  doth  sleep; 

So  you  shall  good  shepherds  prove, 

And  for  ever  hold  the  love 

Of  our  great  god.     Sweetest  slumbers, 

And  soft  silence,  fall  in  numbers 

On  your  eyelids !     So,  farewell ! 

Thus  I  end  my  evening's  knell. 

John  Fletcher. 

r 

Night 
How  beautiful  is  night! 
A  dewy  freshness  fills  the  silent  air; 
No  mist  obscures,  nor  cloud,  nor  speck,  nor  stain, 
Breaks  the  serene  of  heaven: 
In  full-orb'd  glory  yonder  Moon  divine 
Rolls  through  the  dark-blue  depths. 
Beneath  her  steady  ray 
The  desert-circle  spreads, 
Like  the  round  ocean,  girdled  with  the  sky. 
How  beautiful  is  night! 

Robert  Southey. 


1*1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A   Fine  Day  ^ 

Chanted 
Clear  had  the  day  been  from  the  dawn,  Calendat 

All  chequer'd  was  the  sky,  ^ 

Thin  clouds  like  scarfs  of  cobweb  lawn 

Veil'd  heaven's  most  glorious  eye. 

The  wind  had  no  more  strength  than  this, 

That  leisurely  it  blew. 

To  make  one  leaf  the  next  to  kiss 

That  closely  by  it  grew. 

Michael  Drayton. 


The  Seasons 

So  forth  issued  the  seasons  of  the  year; 
First,  lusty  Spring,  all  dight  in  leaves  of  flowers 
That  freshly  budded,  and  new  blooms  did  bear, 
In  which  a  thousand  birds  had  built  their  bowers. 

Edmund  Spenser. 
From  "  Tlie  Faerie  Queene.^'' 


The  Eternal  Spring 
The  birds  their  quire  apply;  airs,  vernal  airSj 
Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 
The  trembling  leaves,  while  universal  Pan, 
Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance, 
Led  on  the  eternal  Spring. 

John  Milton, 


161 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A  March  * 

Chanted 
Calendar  The  stormy  March  is  come  at  last, 

With  wind,  and  cloud,  and  changing  skies; 

I  hear  the  rushing  of  the  blast 

That  through  the  snowy  valley  flies. 

Ah,  passing  few  are  they  who  speak. 
Wild,  stormy  month,  in  praise  of  thee ; 

Yet  though  thy  winds  are  loud  and  bleak, 
Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 

For  thou,  to  northern  lands,  again 

The  glad  and  glorious  sun  dost  bring; 

And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train 

And  wear'st  the  gentle  name  of  Spring. 

Then  sing  aloud  the  gushing  rills 
In  joy  that  they  again  are  free. 

And,  brightly  leaping  down  the  hills, 
Renew  their  journey  to  the  sea. 

Thou  bring'st  the  hope  of  those  calm  skies, 
And  that  soft  time  of  sunny  showers. 

When  the  wide  bloom,  on  earth  that  lies. 
Seems  of  a  brighter  world  than  ours. 

William  CulleN  Bryant. 

*  By  courtesy  of  D.  Appleton  ^  Co. ,  publishers  of  Bryanft 
Complete  Poetical  Works. 

t 

(6) 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Spring  A 

Now    that    the    winter's    gone,    the    earth    hath  Calendax 

lost  ^ 

Her  snow-white   robes;   and   now   no   more   the 

frost 
Candies  the  grass  or  casts  an  icy  cream 
Upon  the  silver  lake  or  crystal  stream : 
But  the  warm  sun  thaws  the  benumbed  earth, 
And  makes  it  tender ;  gives  a  sacred  birth 
To  the  dead  swallow;  wakes  in  hollow  tree 
The  drowsy  cuckoo  and  the  bumble-bee. 
Now  do  a  choir  of  chirping  minstrels  bring 
In  triumph  to  the  world  the  youthful  spring ! 
The  valleys,  hills,  and  woods,  in  rich  array. 
Welcome  the  coming  of  the  longed-for  May. 

Thomas  Carew. 

Song  to  April* 

April,  April, 

Laugh  thy  girlish  laughter; 
Then,  the  moment  after, 
Weep  thy  girlish  tears! 
April,  that  mine  ears 
Like  a  lover  greetest. 
If  I  tell  thee,  sweetest, 
All  my  hopes  and  fears, 
•  By  courtesy  of  John  Lane. 

[7] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A  April,  April, 

Chanted  Laugh  thy  golden  laughter, 

But  the  moment  after, 
▼  Weep  thy  golden  tears! 

William  Watson. 


April  in  England 

Oh,  to  be  in  England 

Now  that  April's  there, 

And  whoever  wakes  in  England 

Sees,  some  morning,  unaware. 

That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brushwood  sheaf 

Round  the  elm-tree  bole  are  in  tiny  leaf. 

While  the  chaffinch  sings  on  the  orchard  bough 

In  England — now! 

And  after  April,  when  May  follows. 
And  the  whitethroat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows ! 
Hark !  where  my  blossomed  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 
Leans  to  the  field,  and  scatters  on  the  clover 
Blossoms   and   dewdrops, — at  the   bent   spray's 

edge — 
That's  the  wise  thrush ;  he  sings  each  song  twice 

over. 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture ! 
And  though  the  fields  look  rough  with  hoary  dew. 
All  will  be  gay  when  noontide  wakes  anew 

[8] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  buttercups,  the  little  children's  dower,  A 

«— Far  brighter  than  this  gaudy  melon  flower.       Chanted 

^  „  Calendar 

KoBERT  Browning. 

April  and  May 

April  cold  with  dropping  rain 
Willows  and  lilacs  brings  again, 
The  whistle  of  returning  birds, 
And  trumpet-lowing  of  the  herds ; 
The  scarlet  maple-keys  betray 
What  potent  blood  hath  modest  May ; 
What  fiery  force  the  earth  renews, 
The  wealth  of  forms,  the  flush  of  hues ; 
What  Joy  in  rosy  waves  outpoured, 
Flows  from  the  heart  of  Love,  the  Lord. 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 
From  "  May-Day" 


May 
Then  came  fair  May,  the  fairest  maid  on  ground, 
Deck'd  all  with  dainties  of  her  season's  pride, 
And  throwing  flowers  out  of  her  lap  around : 
Upon  two  brethren's  shoulders  she  did  ride; 
The  twins  of  Leda,  which  on  either  side 
Supported  her  like  to  their  sovereign  queen. 
Lord!  how  all  creatures  laught  when  her  they 
spied, 

[9] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 
A        And  leapt  and  danced  as  they  had  ravish'd  been, 
C^ndt  ^"^  Cupid's  self  about  her  fluttered  all  in  green. 

Edmund  Spensee. 


r 


r 

Song  on  May  Morning 

Now  the  bright  morning  star,  Day's  harbingerj 
Comes  dancing  from  the  East,  and  leads  with  her 
The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  cowslip  and  the  pale  primrose. 
Hail,  bounteous  May,  that  doth  inspire 
Mirth,  and  youth,  and  warm  desire ; 
Woods  and  groves  are  of  thy  dressing, 
Hill  and  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing. 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  song, 
And  welcome  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

John  Milton. 

r 

Summer 
Then  came  jolly  Summer,  being  dight 
In  a  thin  silken  cassock,  colored  green. 
That  was  unlined,  all  to  be  more  light, 
And  on  his  head  a  garland  well  beseene. 

Edmund  Spenseb- 
From  "  The  Faerie  Queene."" 


lio] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

June  Weather  A 

Chanted 
For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay,  Calendm 

Bubbles  we  earn  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking;  j^ 

'T  is  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'T  is  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking; 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 
And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day^  in  June? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light. 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice. 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A       And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and 
Chanted  gj„gg. 

He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest, — 
•        In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best? 


Now  is  the  high  tide  of  the  year. 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back,  with  a  ripply  cheer, 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay ; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'T  is  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell ; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  know- 
ing 
That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing; 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 
That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize   has   sprouted,   that  streams   are 
flowing. 
That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky. 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack. 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing, — ■ 

And  hark !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 

[12] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year,  A 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing!  Chanted 

T  T)  X  Calendstf 

James  Kussell  Lowell. 

From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."  I* 

July  * 
When  the  scarlet  cardinal  tells 

Her  dream  to  the  dragon  fly, 
And  the  lazy  breeze  makes  a  nest  in  the  trees. 
And  murmurs  a  lullaby, 
It  is  July. 

When  the  tangled  cobweb  pulls 

The  cornflower's  cap  awry. 
And  the  lilies  tall  lean  over  the  wall 

To  bow  to  the  butterfly, 
It  is  July. 

When  the  heat  like  a  mist-veil  floats. 

And  poppies  flame  in  the  rye, 
And  the  silver  note  in  the  streamlet's  throat 

Has  softened  almost  to  a  sigh, 
It  is  July. 

When  the  hours  are  so  still  that  time 

Forgets  them,  and  lets  them  lie 
'Neath  petals  pink  till  the  night  stars  wink 

At  the  sunset  in  the  sky, 
It  is  July. 

****** 

Susan  Hartley  Swept. 
*  B^  courtesy  of  Dana  Eates  <^  Co. 

[13] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A  August 

Chanted  .  .  ,  ■, 

lulendar  The  sixth  was  August,  being  rich  arrayed 

^       In  garment  all  of  gold  down  to  the  ground ; 

Yet  rode  he  not,  but  led  a  lovely  maid 

Forth  by  the  lily  hand,  the  which  was  crowned 

With  ears  of  corn,  and  full  her  hand  was  found: 

That  was  the  righteous  Virgin,  which  of  old 

Lived  here  on  earth,  and  plenty  made  abound. 

Edmund  Spensee. 


In  August 

All  the  long  August  afternoon, 
The  little  drowsy  stream 
Whispers  a  melancholy  tune, 
As  if  it  dreamed  of  June, 
And  whispered  in  its  dream. 

The  thistles  show  beyond  the  brook 
Dust  on  their  down  and  bloom. 
And  out  of  many  a  weed-grown  nook 
The  aster  flowers  look 
With  eyes  of  tender  gloom. 

The  silent  orchard  aisles  are  sweet 
With  smell  of  ripening  fruit. 
Through  the  sere  grass,  in  shy  retreat 
Flutter,  at  coming  feet, 
The  robins  strange  and  mute. 
[14  1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

There  is  no  wind  to  stir  the  leaves,  A 

The  harsh  leaves  overhead;  Chanted 

Only  the  quei-ulous  cricket  grieves,  "  ^    ^'' 

And  shrilling  locust  weaves 
A  song  of  summer  dead. 

William  Dean  Howells. 

r 

Autumn 

Then  came  the  Autumn  all  in  yellow  clad, 
As  though  he  joyed  in  his  plenteous  store. 
Laden  with  fruits  that  made  him  laugh,  full  glad 
That  he  had  banished  hunger,  which  to-fore 
Had  by  the  belly  oft  him  pinched  sore : 
Upon  his  head  a  wreath,  that  was  enroll'd 
With  ears  of  corn  of  every  sort,  he  bore ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  sickle  he  did  hold, 
To  reap  the  ripen'd  fruits  the  which  the  earth  had 

y°^"*  Edmund  Spenser. 

From  "  The  Faerie  Queens." 

r 

Sweet  September 
O  sweet  September!  thy  first  breezes  bring 
The  dry  leaf's  rustle  and  the  squirrel's  laugh- 
ter. 
The  cool,   fresh  air,  whence  health  and  vigor 
spring. 
And  promise  of  exceeding  joy  hereafter. 

George  Aenold. 
[15] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Autumn*s  Processional 

Chanted 
Calendar       Then  step  by  step  walks  Autumn, 

With  steady  eyes  that  show 

Nor  grief  nor  fear,  to  the  death  of  the  year 

While  the  equinoctials  blow. 

Dinah  Maria  Mulock. 


r 


Octoher^s  Bright  Blue  Weather 

O  suns  and  skies  and  clouds  of  June, 
And   flowers  of  June  together, 

Ye  cannot  rival  for  one  hour 
October's  bright  blue  weather; 

When  loud  the  bumblebee  makes  haste, 

Belated,  thriftless  vagrant. 
And  goldenrod  is  dying  fast, 

And  lanes  with  grapes  are  fragrant  | 

When  gentians  roll  their  fringes  tight 
To  save  them  for  the  morning, 

And  chestnuts  fall  from  satin  burrs 
Without  a  sound  of  warning; 

When  on  the  ground  red  apples  lie 
In  piles  like  jewels  shining. 

And  redder  still  on  old  stone  walls 
Are  leaves  of  woodbine  twining  \ 

116] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When  all  the  lovely  wayside  things  ^ 

Their  white-winged  seeds  are  sowing.  Chanted 

And  in  the  fields,  still  green  and  fair, 

Late  aftermaths  are  growing;  ▼ 

When  springs  run  low,  and  on  the  brooks, 

In  idle  golden  freighting, 
Bright  leaves  sink  noiseless  in  the  hush 

Of  woods,  for  winter  waiting ; 

When  comrades  seek  sweet  country  haunts, 

By  twos  and  twos  together. 
And  count  like  misers,  hour  by  hour, 

October's  bright  blue  weather. 

O  sun  and  skies  and  flowers  of  June, 

Count  all  your  boasts  together. 
Love  loveth  best  of  all  the  year 

October's  bright   blue  weather. 

H.  H. 

r 

Maple  Leaves 

October  turned  my  maple's  leaves  to  gold; 
The   most   are   gone  now;   here  and  there  one 

lingers : 
Soon  these  will  slip  from  out  the  twigs'  weak  hold, 
Like  coins  between  a  dying  miser's  fingers.  > 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A  "  Down  to  Sleep  " 

Chanted 
Caleiida*  November  woods  are  bare  and  still, 

to»  November  days  are  clear  and  bright, 

Each  noon  burns  up  the  morning's  chill, 

The  morning's  snow  is  gone  by  night. 

Each  day  my  steps  grow  slow,  grow  lights 

As  through  the  woods  I  reverent  creep, 

Watcliing  all  things  "  lie  down  to  sleep." 


I  never  knew  before  what  beds. 

Fragrant  to  smell  and  soft  to  touch, 

The  forest  sifts  and  shapes  and  spreads. 
I  never  knew  before,  how  much 
Of  human  sound  there  is,  in  such 
Low  tones  as  through  the  forest  sweep. 
When  all  wild  things  "  lie  down  to  sleep, 


»s 


Each  day  I  find  new  coverlids 

Tucked  in,  and  more  sweet  eyes  shut  tights 

Sometimes  the  viewless  mother  bids 

Her  ferns  kneel  down  full  in  my  sight, 
I  hear  their  chorus  of  "  good  night," 
And  half  I  smile  and  half  I  weep. 
Listening  while  they  "  lie  down  to  sleep.'^ 

November  woods  are  bare  and  still, 

November  days  are  bright  and  good. 
Life's  noon  burns  up  life's  morning  chillj 

[18  1 


i^OLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life's  night  rests  feet  that  long  have  stood,  ^ 

Some  warm,  soft  bed  in  field  or  wood  Chanted 

The  mother  will  not  fail  to  keep 
Where  we  can  "  lay  us  down  to  sleep."  » 

H.  H. 


Winter 
Lastly  came  Winter  cloathed  all  in  frize, 
Chattering  his  teeth  for  cold  that  did  him  chill ; 
Whilst  on  his  hoary  beard  his  breath  did  freeze, 
And  the  dull  drops  that  from  his  purple  bill 
As  from  a  limbeck  did  adown  distill ; 
In  his  right  hand  a  tipped  staff  he  held 
With  which  his  feeble  steps  he  stayed  still, 
For  he  was  faint  with  cold  and  weak  with  eld, 
That  scarce  his  loosed  limbs  he  able  was  to  weld. 

Edmund  Spenser. 


When  Icicles  Hang  hy  the  Wall 
When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall. 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall. 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail, 
When  blood  is  nipped,  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-whit ! 
To-who! — a  merry  note, 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

[19] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A  When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow, 

Chanted  ^^^  couffhing;  drowns  the  parson's  saw. 

Calendar  ,  .  .  .        . 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow, 

▼  And  ]\Iarian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw, 

When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl, 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-whit! 

To-who ! — a  merry  note, 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

William  Shakespeare, 

From  "  Lovers  Labor's  Lost." 

r 

A   Winter  Morning 

There  was  never  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree, 

The  bare  boughs   rattled  shudderingl}^ ; 

The  river  was  dumb  and  could  not  speak, 

For  the  weaver  Winter  its  shroud  had  spun; 

A  single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 

From  his  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold  sun; 

Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold, 

As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old. 

And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 

For  a  last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 

James  Russell  Lowell, 
From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal." 

r 

f90| 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Snow  Storm  A 

Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky,         Calendar 
Arrives  the  snow,  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight;  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heaven, 
And  veils  the  farmhouse  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveler  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  inclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come  see  the  north-wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastions  with  projected  roof 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door. 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work 
So  fanciful,  so  savage,  naught  cares  he 
For  number  or  proportion.     Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths; 
A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn; 
Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 
Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs ;  and,  at  the  gate, 
A  tapering  tuiTet  overtops  the  work: 
And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 
Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not. 
Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 
To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 

[21] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A        Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night-work, 

Chanted  r^j^g  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 
Calendar  _,  ,,,  t-, 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


r 


r 

Old  Winter 

Old  Winter  sad,  in  snow  jclad, 

Is  making  a  doleful  din ; 
But  let  him  howl  till  he  crack  his  jowl, 

We  will  not  let  him  in. 

Ay,  let  him  lift  from  the  billowy  di-ift 

His  hoary,  hagged  form. 
And  scowling  stand,  with  his  wrinkled  Kind 

Outstretching  to  the  storm. 

And  let  his  weird  and  sleety  beard 

Stream  loose  upon  the  blast, 
And,  rustling,  chime  to  the  tinkling  rime 

From  his  bald  head  falling  fast. 

Let  his  baleful  breath  shed  blight  and  death 

On  herb  and  flower  and  tree; 
AVid  brooks  and  ponds  in  crystal  bonds 

Bind  fast,  but  what  care  we.'' 

Let  him  push  at  the  door, — in  the  chimney  roarj 

And  rattle  the  window  pane ; 
Let  him  in  at  us  spy  with  his  icicle  eyei 

But  he  shall  not  entrance  gain, 

[82] 


Midwinter 
The  speckled  sky  is  dim  with  snow, 
The  Hght  flakes  falter  and  fall  slow; 
Athwart  the  hill-top,  rapt  and  pale, 
Silently  drops  a  silvery  veil; 
And  all  the  valley  is  shut  in 
By  flickering  curtains  gray  and  thin. 

But  cheerily  the  chickadee 
Singeth  to  me  on  fence  and  tree; 
The  snow  sails  round  him  as  he  sings, 
White  as  the  down  of  angels'  wings. 

I  watch  the  slow  flakes  as  they  fall 
On  bank  and  brier  and  broken  wall; 
Over  the  orchard,  waste  and  brown, 
All  noiselessly  they  settle  down, 
Tipping  the  apple-boughs,  and  each 
Light  quivering  twig  of  plum  and  peach. 
£23] 


Calendar 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Lc;t  him  gnaw,  forsooth,  with  his  freezing  tooth,        A 
On  our  roof-tiles,  till  he  tire ;  Chanted 

But  we  care  not  a  whit,  as  we  jovial  sit 
Before  our  blazins  fire. 

Come,  lads,  let's  sing,  till  the  rafters  ring; 

Come,  push  the  can  about; — 
From  our  snug  fire-side  this  Christmas-tide 

We'll  keep  old  Winter  out. 

Thomas  Noel. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  On  turf  and  curb  and  bower-roof 

Chanted  -pj^^  snow-storm  spreads  its  ivory  woof; 

It  paves  with  pearl  the  garden-walk; 
▼  And  lovingly  round  tattered  stalk 

And  shivering  stem  its  magic  weaves 
A  mantle  fair  as  lily-leaves. 

The  hooded  beehive  small  and  low, 
Stands  like  a  maiden  in  the  snow; 
And  the  old  door-slab  is  half  hid 
Under  an  alabaster  lid. 

All  day  it  snows:  the  sheeted  post 
Gleams  in  the  dimness  like  a  ghost ; 
All  day  the  blasted  oak  has  stood 
A  muffled  wizard  of  the  wood; 
Garland  and  airy  cap  adorn 
The  sumach  and  the  wayside  thorn, 
And  clustering  spangles  lodge  and  shine 
In  the  dark  tresses  of  the  pine. 

The  ragged  bramble,  dwarfed  and  old, 
Shrinks  like  a  beggar  in  the  cold; 
In  surplice  white  the  cedar  stands, 
And  blesses  him  with  priestly  hands. 

Still  cheerily  the  chickadee 
Singeth  to  me  on  fence  and  tree: 
But  in  my  inmost  ear  is  heard 
The  music  of  a  holier  bird; 
[24] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  heavenly  thoughts  as  soft  and  white  A 

As  snow-flakes  on  my  soul  alight,  Llianled 

Clothing  with  love  my  lonely  heart, 


Healing  with  peace  each  bruised  part, 
Till  all  my  being  seems  to  be 
Transfigured  by  their  purity. 

John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 


Dirge  for  tJie  Year 

**  Orphan  Hours,  the  Year  is  dead ! 

Come  and  sigh,  come  and  weep !  " 
"  Merry  Hours,  smile  instead. 

For  the  Year  is  but  asleep ; 
See,  it  smiles  as  it  is  sleeping, 
Mocking  3^our  untimely  weeping." 
».  •  •  •  . 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley* 


r 


I  25  J 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

The    World  Beautiful 

Study  Nature,  not  books,^'  said  that  inspired  teacher^ 
Louis  Agassiz. 

The  poets  do  not  bring  you  the  fruit  of  conscious  study, 
perhaps,  for  they  do  not  analyze  or  dissect  Dame  Nat- 
ure's methods;  with  them  genius  begets  a  higher  instinct, 
and  it  is  by  a  sort  of  divination  that  they  interpret  for 
us  the  power  and  grandeur,  romance  and  witchery, 
beauty  and  mystery  of  "  God's  great  out-of-doors." 
The  dorn  poet,  like  the  born  naturalist,  seems  to  have 
additional  senses.  Emerson  says  of  his  friend  Thoreau 
that  he  saw  as  with  microscope  and  heard  as  with  ear' 
trumpet,  while  his  memory  was  a  photographic  register 
of  all  he  saw  and  heard;  and  Thoreau  the  naturalist 
might  have  said  the  same  of  Emerson  the  poet. 
Glance  at  the  succession  of  beautiful  images  in  Shelley's 
"  Cloud  "  or  AIdrich''s  "  Before  the  Rain '';  lend  your  ear 

to  the  tinkle  of  Tennyson's  "  Brook.'*  Contrast  them 
with  the  bracing  lines  of  the  "Northeast  Wind,"  the 
rough  metre  of  "  Highland  Cattle,"  the  chill  calm  of 
"  Snow  Bound,"  the  grand  style  of  Milton's  "  Morn- 
ing," the  noble  simplicity  of  Addison's  "  Hymn,"  and 
note  how  the  great  poet  bends  his  language  to  the  mood 
of  Nature,  grim  or  sunny,  stormy  or  kind,  strong  or 
tender.  There  is  a  stanza  in  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Critir 
cism  "  which  conveys  the  idea  perfectly: 

"  Soft  is  the  strain  lohen  zephyr  gently  blows. 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numhers  flows ; 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore. 
The  hoarse,  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 
When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw. 
The  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow  : 
Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain. 
Flies  o'er  th"  unbending  oom.  at"^  »Hms  along  the  main,** 


n 

THE  WORLD   BEAUTIFUL 

r    r 

r 

The  World  Beautiful 

^  WEET  is  the  breath  of  Morn,  her  rising  sweet 
With  charm  of  earhest  birds;  pleasant  the  Sun 
When  first  on  this  dehghtful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower, 
Glistening  with  dew ;  fragrant  the  fertile  Earth 
After  soft  showers ;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  Evening  mild;  then  silent  Night 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  Moon, 
And  these  the  gems  of  Heaven,  her  starry  train, 

John  Milton. 
From  "  Paradise  Lost." 


The  Harvest  Moon 

It  is  the  harvest  moon!     On  gilded  vanes 
And  roofs  of  villages,  on  woodland  crests 
And  their  aerial  neighborhoods  of  nests 
Deserted,  on  the  curtained  window-panes 
Of  rooms  where  children  sleep,  on  country  lanes 

[27] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  And  harvest-fields,  its  mystic  splendor  rests ! 

Vorld 
Beautiful 


Gone   are    the   birds   that  were   our  summer 


guests ; 

▼        With  the  last  sheaves  return  the  laboring  wains ! 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


/ 


The  Cloud 

I  bring  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers, 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams; 
I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noonday  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail. 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under; 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain, 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

I  sift  the  snow  on  the  mountains  below. 

And  their  great  pines  groan  aghast; 
And  all  the  night  'tis  my  pillow  white. 

While  I  sleep  in  the  arms  of  the  blast. 
Sublime  on  the  towers  of  my  skyey  bowers, 

Lightning  my  pilot  sits; 
In  a  cavern  under  is  fettered  the  thunder, 

It  struggles  and  howls  at  fits; 

[28] 


GOLDEN    NmiBERS 

Over  earth  and  ocean,  with  gentle  motion,  The 

This  pilot  is  guiding  me,  World 

Lured  by  the  love  of  the  genii  that  move  ^  '' 

In  the  depths  of  the  purple  sea; 
Over  the  rills,  and  the  crags,  and  the  hills, 

Over  the  lakes  and  the  plains, 
Wherever  he  dream,  under  mountain  or  stream, 

The  Spirit  he  loves  remains; 
And  I  all  the  while  bask  in  heaven's  blue  smile, 

Whilst  he  is  dissolving  in  rains. 

The  sanguine  sunrise,  with  his  meteor  eyes. 

And  his  burning  plumes  outspread, 
Leaps  on  the  back  of  my  sailing  rack 

W^hen  the  morning-star  shines  dead, 
As  on  the  jag  of  a  mountain  crag. 

Which  an  earthquake  rocks  and  swings. 
An  eagle  alit  one  moment  may  sit 

In  the  light  of  its  golden  wings. 
And  when  Sunset  may  breathe,  from  the  lit  sea 
beneath 

Its  ardors  of  rest  and  of  love, 
And  the  crimson  pall  of  eve  may  fall 

From  the  depth  of  heaven  above, 
With  wings  folded  I  rest,  on  mine  airy  nest, 

As  still  as  a  brooding  dove. 

That  orbed  maiden  with  white  fire  laden, 
Whom  mortals  call  the  moon, 

[39] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      Glides  glimmering  o'er  my  fleece-like  floor, 
Vorid  gy  ^YiQ  midnight  breezes  strewn; 

And  wherever  the  beat  of  her  unseen  feet, 
Which  only  the  angels  hear, 


May  have  broken  the  woof  of  my  tent's  thin  roof, 

The  stars  peep  behind  her  and  peer; 
And  I  laugh  to  see  them  whirl  and  flee, 

Like  a  swarm  of  golden  bees. 
When  I  widen  the  rent  in  my  wind-built  tent, 

Till  the  calm  rivers,  lakes,  and  seas, 
Like  strips  of  the  sky  fallen  through  me  on  high. 

Are  each  paved  with  the  moon  and  these. 

I  bind  the  sun's  throne  with  a  burning  zone, 

And  the  moon's  with  a  girdle  of  pearl ; 
The  volcanoes  are  dim,  and  the  stars  reel  and 
swim. 

When  the  whirlwinds  my  banner  unfurl. 
From  cape  to  cape,  with  a  bridge-like  shape, 

Over  a  torrent  sea, 
Sunbeam-proof,  I  hang  like  a  roof. 

The  mountains  its  columns  be. 
The  triumphal  arch  through  which  I  march 

With  hurricane,  fire,  and  snow. 
When  the  powers  of  the  air  are  chained  to  my 
chair. 

Is  the  million-colored  bow ; 
The  sphere-fire  above  its  soft  colors  wove. 

While  the  moist  earth  was  laughing  below. 
[30] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  water,  Ttn. 

And  the  nurshng  of  the  sky:  ^'   ,,  . 

I  pass  througli  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and  shores ;        . 

I  change,  but  I  cannot  die.  ▼ 

For  after  the  rain  when  with  never  a  stain, 

The  pavilion  of  heaven  is  bare, 
And  the  winds  and  sunbeams  with  their  convex 
gleams, 

Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air, 
I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph. 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain. 
Like  a  child  from  the  womb,  like  a  ghost  from  the 
tomb, 

I  arise  and  unbuild  it  again. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

r 

Before  the  Rain 

We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  all  the  morn, 

A  spirit  on  slender  ropes  of  mist 
Was  lowering  its  golden  buckets  down 

Into  the  vapory  amethyst 

Of  marshes  and  swamps  and  dismal  fens — 
Scooping  the  dew  that  lay  in  the  flowers, 

Dipping  the  jewels  out  of  the  sea. 

To  sprinkle  them  over  the  land  in  showers. 

[31] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  the  poplars  showed 
norld         rpj^g  white  of  their  leaves,  the  amber  grain 
Shrunk  in  the  wind — and  the  lightning  now 
T  Is  tangled  in  tremulous  skeins  of  rain ! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 

Rain  in  Summer 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain ! 

After  the  dust  and  heat, 

In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane, 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain! 

How  it  clatters  along  the  roofs 

Like  the  tramp  of  hoofs ! 

How  it  gushes  and  struggles  out 

From  the  throat  of  the  overflowing  spou'  \ 

Across  the  window-pane 

It  pours  and  pours ; 

And  swift  and  wide, 

With  a  muddy  tide, 

Like  a  river  down  the  gutter  roars 

The  rain,  the  welcome  rain ! 

The  sick  man  from  his  chamber  looks 
At  the  twisted  brooks; 
He  can  feel  the  cool 
Breath  of  each  little  pool ; 

[321 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

His  fevered  brain  The 

Grows  calm  aejain,  .,    ^'". ,,  , 

,1  11-  •  Beautiful 

And  he  breathes  a  blessing  on  the  rain. 

From  the  neighboring  school 

Come  the  boys, 

With  more  than  their  wonted  noise 

And  commotion ; 

And  down  the  wet  streets 

Sail  their  mimic  fleets, 

Till  the  treacherous  pool 

Engulfs  them  in  its  whirling 

And  turbulent  ocean. 

In  the  country  on  every  side, 

Where,  far  and  wide. 

Like  a  leopard's  tawny  and  spotted  hide, 

Stretches  the  plain. 

To  the  dry  grass  and  the  drier  grain 

How  welcome  is  the  rain ! 

In  the  furrowed  land 
The  toilsome  and  patient  oxen  stand, 
Lifting  the  yoke-encumbered  head, 
With  their  dilated  nostrils  spread, 
They  silently  inhale 
The  clover-scented  gale. 
And  the  vapors  that  arise 
From  the  well-watered  and  smoking  soil. 
For  this  rest  in  the  furrow  after  toil, 

[33] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

fhe  Their  large  and  lustrous  eyes 

World         gggj^  t^  ^l^^nl-  the  Lord, 

More  than  man's  spoken  word. 
9  ..... 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

r 

Invocation  to  Rain  in  Summer 

O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain, 
Let  not  the  silver  lily  pine, 

The  drooping  lily  pine  in  vain 

To  feel  that  dewy  touch  of  thine — • 

To  drink  thy  freshness  once  again, 

O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain! 

In  heat  the  landscape  quiA'ering  lies; 

The  cattle  pant  beneath  the  tree ; 
Through  parching  air  and  purple  skies 

The  earth  looks  up,  in  vain,  for  thee; 
For  thee — for  thee,  it  looks  in  vain, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain! 

Come,  thou,  and  brim  the  meadow  streams, 

And  soften  all  the  hills  with  mist, 
O  falling  dew !  from  burning  dreams 

By  thee  shall  herb  and  flower  be  kissed ; 
And  Earth  shall  bless  thee  yet  again, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain ! 

William  C.  Bennett. 
[34] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Latter  Rain  The 

World 
The  latter  rain,- — it  falls  in  anxious  haste  Beautifit 

Upon  the  sun-dried  fields  and  branches  bare,  ^ 

Loosening  with  searching  drops  the  rigid  waste 

As  if  it  would  each  root's  lost  strength  repair; 

But  not  a  blade  grows  green  as  in  the  spring; 

No  swelling  twig  puts  forth  its  thickening  leaves ; 

The  robins  only  'mid  the  harvests  sing. 

Pecking  the  grain  that  scatters  from  the  sheaves ; 

The  rain  falls  still, — the  fruit  all  ripened  drops, 

It  pierces  chestnut-bur  and  walnut-shell; 

The  furrowed  fields  disclose  the  yellow  crops; 

Each  bursting  pod  of  talents  used  can  tell; 

And  all  that  once  received  the  early  rain 

Declare  to  man  it  was  not  sent  in  vain, 

Jones  Very. 

The  Wind* 

I  saw  you  toss  the  kites  on  high 

And  blow  the  birds  about  the  sky ; 

And  all  around  I  heard  you  pass. 

Like  ladies'  skirts  across  the  grass — • 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 

I  saw  the  different  things  you  did, 

But  always  you  yourself  you  hid, 

*  From  ''A  ChihTs  Ganhn  of  Verses."     By  courtesf/  of 
Charles  Scribners  Sons. 

[35J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tlie  I  felt  you  push,  I  heard  you  call, 

"  0?™  I  could  not  see  yourself  at  all — ■ 

O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long\ 
¥  O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 

O  you  that  are  so  strong  and  cold, 
O  blower,  are  you  young  or  old? 
Are  you  a  beast  of  field  and  tree 
Or  just  a  stronger  child  than  me? 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

'i 

Ode  to  the  Northeast  Wind 

Welcome,  wild  Northeaster! 

Shame  it  is  to  see 
Odes  to  every  zephyr; 

Ne'er  a  verse  to  thee. 
Welcome,  black  Northeaster! 

O'er  the  German  foam; 
O'er  the  Danish  moorlands. 

From  thy  frozen  home. 
Tired  we  are  of  summer. 

Tired  of  gaudy  glare. 
Showers  soft  and  steaming, 

Hot  and  breatliless  air. 
Tired  of  listless  dreaming, 

Through  the  lazy  day ; 
[36] 


Beuutifid 

r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Jovial  wind  of  winter  The 

Turn  us  out  to  play  !  ^^'"^'^ 

Sweep  the   golden  reed-beds; 

Crisp  the  lazy  dyke; 
Hunger  into  madness 

Every  plunging  pike. 
Fill  the  lake  with  wild- fowl ; 

Fill  the  marsh  with  snipe; 
While  on  dreary  moorlands 

Lonely  curlew  pipe. 
Through  the  black  fir  forest 

Thunder  harsh  and  dry, 
Shattering  down  the  snowflakes 

Off  the  curdled  sky. 
Hark!  the  brave  Northeaster! 

Breast-high  lies  the  scent, 
On  by  holt  and  headland, 

Over  heath  and  bent. 
Chime,  ye  dappled  darlings, 

Through  the  sleet  and  sno\r. 
Who  can  override  you.^ 

Let  the  horses  go ! 
Chime,  ye  dappled  darlings, 

Down  the  roaring  blast; 
You  shall  see  a  fox  die 

Ere  an  hour  be  past. 
Go!  and  rest  to-morrow, 

Hunting  in  your  dreams, 

137] 

^  7  H  !1  '> 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  While  our  skates  are  ringing 

World  O'er  the  frozen  streams. 

'  -^  Let  the  luscious  South-wind 

?  Breathe  in  lovers'  sighs, 

While  the  lazy  gallants 

Bask  in  ladies'  eyes. 
What  does  he  but  soften 

Heart  alike  and  pen? 
'Tis  the  hard  gray  weather 

Breeds  hard  English  men. 
What's  the  soft  Southwester.'* 

'Tis  the  ladies'  breeze, 
Bringing  home  their  true  loves 

Out  of  all  the  seas ; 
But  the  black  Northeaster, 

Through  the  snowstorm  hurled, 
Drives  our  English  hearts  of  oak, 

Seaward  round  the  world! 
Come !  as  came  our  fathers, 

Heralded  by  thee. 
Conquering  from  the  eastward, 

Lords  by  land  and  sea. 
Come !  and  strong  within  us 

Stir  the  Vikings'  blood ; 
Bracing  brain  and  sinew; 

Blow,  thou  wind  of  God! 

Charles  KingsleTc 


[38] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Windy  Night*  T*f 

Wortti 

Alow  and  aloof,  Beautiju 

Over  the  roof,  ^ 

Iffow  the  midnight  tempests  howl! 

With  a  dreary  voice,  like  the  dismal  tune 
Of  wolves  that  bav  at  the  desert  moon : — 
Or  whistle  and  shriek 
Through  limbs  that  creak, 
"  Tu-who !  tu-whit !  " 
They  cry  and  flit, 
"Tu-whit!  tu-who!"  like  the  solemn  owl! 

Alow  and  aloof, 

Over  the  roof. 
Sweep  the  moaning  winds  amain, 

And  wildly  dash 

The  elm  and  ash. 
Clattering  on  the  window-sash. 

With  a  clatter  and  patter. 

Like  hail  and  rain 

That  well  nigh  shatter 

The  dusk}'^  pane! 

Alow  and  aloof. 
Over  the  roof. 
How  the  tempests  swell  and  roar! 
Though  no  foot  is  astir. 
Though  the  cat  and  the  cur 

•  By  courtesy  of  J.  B.  Lippmcott  4"  C& 
L39J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      Lie  dozing  along  the  kitchen  floors 
World  Ti^gj.^  ^^^  £gg^  ^j£  ^-j. 

BeaJiiitui  ^  ,    •    , 

On  every  stair! 

*  Through  every  hall — 

Through  each  gusty  door. 

There's  a  jostle  and  bustle, 

With  a  silken  rustle, 

Like  the  meeting  of  guests  at  a  festival! 

Alow  and  aloof. 

Over  the  roof, 
How  the  stormy  tempests  swell! 

And  make  the  vane 

On  the  spire  complain — 
They  heave  at  the  steeple  with  might  and  main 

And  burst  and  sweep 
Into  the  belfry,  on  the  bell! 
They  smite  it  so  hard,  and  they  smite  it  so  well, 
That  the  sexton  tosses  his  arms  in  sleep. 
And  dreams  he  is  ringing  a  funeral  knell! 

Thomas  .Buchanan  Read. 


The  Brook 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hem, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 
[40] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down,  The 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges ;  .,       .^  . 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 

And  half  a  hundred  bridges.  f 

•  •  •  •  '^ 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret, 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 

With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out. 

With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 

And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel, 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 

•  •  •  !•  f 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

!i,  f  I  slide  by  hazel  covers ; 

I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 
*  That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeams  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses. 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

-Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


The  Brook  in  Winter 

Down  swept  the  chill  wind  from  the  mountain 
peak. 
From  the  snow  five  thousand  summers  old; 
On  open  wold  and  hill-top  bleak 
It  had  gathered  all  the  cold. 
And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's  cheek ; 

[42] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

It  carried  a  shiver  everywhere  The 

From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare ;       „       . , 

The  little  brook  heard  it  and  built  a  roof 

'Neath  which  he  could  house  him,  winter-proof;        ' 

All  night  by  the  white  stars'  frosty  gleams 

He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams ; 

Slender  and  clear  were  his  crystal  spars 

As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars; 

He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 

In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight ; 

Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipt 

Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest  crypt, 

Long,  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 

Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze ; 

Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretvvork  knew; 

But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew; 

Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief 

With  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf; 

Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 

For  the  gladness  of  heaven  to  shine  through,  and 

here 
He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 
And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond  drops, 
That  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun. 
And  made  a  star  of  everv  one: 
No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 
Could  match  this  winter-palace  of  ice; 
'T  was  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay 

[43] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 
^orld    Y^sich  flitting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky, 
Lest  the  happy  model  sliould  be  lost, 
•         Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 
By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost. 

James  Russei.1.  Lowell. 
From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal." 


Clear  and  Cool 

Clear  and  cool,  clear  and  cool. 
By  laughing  shallow,  and  dreaming  pool; 

Cool  and  clear,  cool  and  clear. 
By  shining  shingle,  and  foaming  wear; 
Under  the  crag  where  the  ouzel  sings. 
And  the  ivied  wall  where  the  church-bell  rings, 
Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled ; 
Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 

Dank  and  foul,  dank  and  foul. 
By  the  smoky  town  in  its  murky  cowl; 

Foul  and  dank,  foul  and  dank. 
By  wharf  and  sewer  and  slimy  bank ; 
Darker  and  darker  the  farther  I  go. 
Baser  and  baser  the  richer  I  grow; 

Who  dare  sport  with  the  sin-defiled  ? 
Shrink  from  me,  turn  from  me,  mother  and 
child. 

[U] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Strong  and  free,  strong  and  free,  The 

The  floodgates  are  open,  away  to  the  sea,  World 

Free  and  strong,  free  and  strong,  *' 

Cleansing  my  streams  as  I  hurry  along,  ? 

To  the  golden  sands,  and  the  leaping  bar, 
And  the  taintless  tide  that  awaits  me  afar. 
As  I  lose  myself  in  the  infinite  main, 
Like  a  soul  that  has  sinned   and  is  pardoned 
again. 
Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled; 
Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 

Charles  Kingsley. 
From  "  The  Water-Babies." 

r 

Minnows 

How  silent  comes  the  water  round  that  bend; 
Not  the  minutest  whisper  does  it  send 
To  the  o'erhanging  sallows ;  blades  of  grass 
Slowly  across  the  chequer'd  shadows  pass, — 
Why,  you  might  read  two  sonnets,  ere  they  reach 
To  where  the  hurrying  freshnesses  aye  preach 
A  natural  sermon  o'er  their  pebbly  beds ; 
Where  swarms  of  minnows  show  their  little  heads, 
Staying  their  wavy  bodies  'gainst  the  streams. 
To  taste  the  luxury  of  sunny  beams 
Tempered  with  coolness.    How  they  ever  wrestle 
With  their  own  sweet  delight,  and  ever  nestle 

[45] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      Their  silver  bellies  on  the  pebbly  sand. 
^Vorld    j£  y^^  [jy^  scantily  hold  out  the  hand, 

Beautiful  „,     ,  •     .       .        .  •^^ 

Ihat  very  instant  not  one  will  remain; 

▼        But  turn  your  eye,  and  they  are  there  again. 

The  ripples  seem  right  glad  to  reach  those  cresses, 

And  cool  themselves  among  the  em'rald  tresses; 

The  while  they  cool  themselves,  they  freshness 

give, 

And  moisture,  that  the  bowery  green  may  live, 

John  Keats. 


Sno'w-Bound 

(  Extracts  ) 

The  sun  that  brief  December  day 
Rose  cheerless  over  liills  of  gi'ay, 
And,  darkly  circled,  gave  at  noon 
A  sadder  light  than  waning  moon. 
Slow  tracing  down  the  thickening  sky 
Its  mute  and  ominous  prophecy, 
A  portent  seeming  less  than  threat, 
It  sank  from  sight  before  it  set. 
A  chill  no  coat,  however  stout, 
Of  homespun  stuff  could  quite  shut  out, 
A  hard  dull  bitterness  of  cold. 
That  checked,  mid-vein,  the  circling  race 
Of  life-blood  in  the  sharpened  face. 
The  coming  of  the  snow-storm  told. 

[46] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  wind  blew  east :  we  heard  the  roar  The 

Of  ocean  on  his  wintry  shore,  World 

And  felt  the  strong  pulse  throbbing  there  ^^"  '•^"* 
Beat  with  low  rhythm  our  inland  air.  f* 


Unwarmed  by  any  sunset  light 

The  gray  day  darkened  into  night, 

A  night  made  hoary  with  the  swarm 

And  whirl-dance  of  the  blinding  storm, 

As  zig-zag  wavering  to  and  fro 

Crossed  and  recrossed  the  winged  snow: 

And  ere  the  early  bedtime  came 

The  white  drift  piled  the  window-frame, 

And  through  the  glass  the  clothes-line  posts 

Looked  in  like  tall  and  sheeted  ghosts. 


The  old  familiar  sights  of  ours 

Took    mai-\'ellous    shapes;    strange    domes    and 

towers 
Rose  up  where  sty  or  corn-crib  stood, 
Or  garden  wall,  or  belt  of  wood; 
A  smooth  white  mound  the  brush-pile  showed, 
A  fenceless  drift  what  once  was  road; 
The  bridle-post  an  old  man  sat 
With  loose-flung  coat  and  high  cocked  hat; 
The  well-curb  had  a  Chinese  roof; 
And  even  the  long  sweep,  high  aloof, 

[471 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      In  Its  slant  splendor,  seemed  to  tell 

World    Q£  Pisa's  leaning  miracle. 
\Seautiful 

^  ■■■■■■ 

All  day  the  gusty  north  wind  bore 
The  loosening  drift  its  breath  before; 
Low  circling  round  its  southern  zone, 
The  sun  through  dazzling  snow-mist  shone. 
No  church-bell  lent  its  Christian  tone 
To  the  savage  air,  no  social  smoke 
Curled  over  woods  of  snow-hung  oak. 
A  solitude  made  more  intense 
By  dreary-voiced  elements. 
The  shrieking  of  the  mindless  wind, 
The  moaning  tree-boughs  swaying  blind, 
And  on  the  glass  the  unmeaning  beat 
Of  ghostly  finger-tips  of  sleet. 
Bej^ond  the  circle  of  our  hearth 
No  welcome  sound  of  toil  or  mirth 
Unbound  the  spell,  and  testified 
Of  human  life  and  thought  outside^ 
We  minded  that  the  sharpest  ear 
The  buried  brooklet  could  not  hear, 
The  music  of  whose  liquid  lip 
Had  been  to  us  companionship. 
And  in  our  lonely  life,  had  grown 
To  have  an  almost  human  tone. 
As  night  drew  on,  and,  from  the  crest 
Of  wooded  knolls  that  ridged  the  west, 

[48] 


GOLDEN    NUINIBERS 

The  sun,  a  snow-blown  traveller,  sank 
From  sight  beneath  the  smothering  bank. 
We  piled  with  care,  our  nightly  stack 
Of  Avood  against  the  chimney-back, — 
The  oaken  log,  green,  huge  and  thick, 
And  on  its  top  the  stout  back-stick ; 
The  knotty  fore-stick  laid  apart, 
And  filled  between  with  curious  art 
The  ragged  brush ;  then  hovering  near, 
We  watched  the  first  red  blaze  appear, 
Heard  the  sharp  crackle,  caught  the  gleam 
On  whitewashed  wall  and  sagging  beam, 
Until  the  old  rude-fashioned  room 
Burst  flower-Kke  into  rosy  bloom; 
While  radiant  with  a  mimic  flame 
Outside  the  sparkling  drift  became, 
And  through  the  bare-boughed  lilac  tree 
Our  own  warm  hearth  seemed  blazing  free. 
The  crane  and  pendent  trammels  showed. 
The  Turks'  heads  on  the  andirons  glowed; 
While  childish  fancy,  prompt  to  tell 
The  meaning  of  the  miracle. 
Whispered  the  old  rhyme:    "  Under  the  trae. 
When  fire  outdoors  burns  merrily. 
There  the  witches  are  mdk'mg  tea  J** 


The 

World 

Beautijul 

r 


C«J 


Shut  in  from  all  the  world  without, 
We  sat  the.  clean-winged  hearth  about^ 

[49  1 


r« 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Content  to  let  the  north  wind  roar 

florid         jj^  baffled  rage  at  pane  and  door, 
While  the  red  logs  before  us  beat 
▼  The  frost-line  back  with  tropic  heat; 

And  ever,  when  a  louder  blast 
Shook  beam  and  rafter  as  it  passed. 
The  merrier  up  its  roaring  draught 
The  great  throat  of  the  chimney  laughed. 
The  house-dog  on  his  paws  outspread 
Laid  to  the  fire  his  drowsy  head, 
The  cat's  dark  silhouette  on  the  wall 
A  couchant  tiger's  seemed  to  fall; 
And,  for  the  winter  fireside  meet, 
Between  the  andirons'  straddling  feet, 
The  mug  of  cider  simmered  slow. 
The  apples  sputtered  in  a  row. 
And  close  at  hand  the  basket  stood 
With  nuts  from  brown  October's  wood. 

•  •  •  •  • 

John  Gkeenleaf  Whittieb. 


Highland  Cattle 

Down  the  wintry  mountain 

Like  a  cloud  they  come, 
Not  like  a  cloud  in  its  silent  shroud 

When  the  sky  is  leaden  and  the  earth  all  dumb, 

1501 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

But  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  The 

With  a  roar  and  a  shock,  World 

.    J     .  ,  .  Bemdifui 

And  stamp,  stamp,  stamp,  *' 

Down  the  hard  granite  rock,  f 

With  the  snow-flakes  faUing  fair 

Like  an  army  in  the  air 

Of  white-winged  angels  leaving 

Their  heavenly  homes,  half  grieving. 

And  half  glad  to  drop  down  kindly  upon  earth 

so  bare: 
With  a  snort  and  a  bellow 
Tossing  manes  dun  and  yellow, 
Red  and  roan,  black  and  gray, 
In  their  fierce  merry  play. 
Though  the  sky  is  all  leaden  and  the  earth  all 

dumb — 
Down  the  noisy  cattle  come! 

Throned  on  the  mountain 

Winter  sits  at  ease: 
Hidden  under  mist  are  those  peaks  of  amethyst 

That  rose  like  hills  of  heaven  above  the  amber 
seas. 
While  crash,  crash,  crash. 

Through  the  frozen  heather  brown, 
And  dash,  darh,  dash, 

Where  the  ptarmigan  drops  down 
And  the  curlew  stops  her  cry 
And  the  deer  sinks,  like  to  die 

[M] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      And  the  waterfall's  loud  noise 
florid    jg  ^j^g  ^j^j     living  voice — 
Beautiful 

With  a  plunge  and  a  roar 

w         Like  mad  waves  upon  the  shore, 

Or  the  wind  through  the  pass 

Howling  o'er  the  reedy  grass — 

In  a  wild  battalion  pouring  from  the  heights 

unto  the  plain, 

Down  the  cattle  come  again ! 

•  •  •  •  • 

Dinah  Maria  Mulock. 

r 

A  Scene  in  Paradise 

Adam  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  born 
His  sons ;  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve. 
Under  a  tuft  of  shade  that  on  a  green 
Stood  whispering  soft,  by  a  fresh  fountain-side, 
They  sat  them  down ;      .       .       . 

About  them  frisking  played 
All  beasts  of  the  earth,  since  wild,  and  of  all  chase 
In  wood  or  wilderness,  forest  or  den. 
Sporting  the  lion  ramped,  and  in  his  paw 
Dandled  the  kid ;  bears,  tigers,  ounces,  pards. 
Gamboled  before  them;  the  unwieldy  elephant, 
To  make  them  mirth,  used  all  his  might,  and 

wreathed 
His  lithe  proboscis ;  close  the  serpent  sly, 

[59] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Insinuating,  wove  with  Gordian  twine  The 

His  braided  train,  and  of  his  fatal  guile  n,i  . 

Beautijul 
Gave  proof  unheeded.     Others  on  the  grass 

Couched,  and,  now  filled  with  pasture,  gazing  sat,        ▼ 

Or  bedward  ruminating;  for  the  sun, 

Declined,  was  hastening  now  with  prone  career 

To  the  Ocean  Isles,  and  in  the  ascending  scale 

Of  Heaven  the  stars  that  usher  evening  rose. 

John  Milton. 

From  "  Paradise  Lost." 

r 

The  Tiger 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night! 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burnt  the  ardor  of  thine  eyes? 
On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire — 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire? 

And  what  shoulder,  and  what  art 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart? 
And  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat. 
What  dread  hand  f orm'd  thy  dread  feet  ? 

What  the  hammer,  what  the  chain, 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain? 
[53] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  What  the  anvil?     What  dread  grasp 


World 
Beautiful 


Dare  its  deadly  terrors  clasp? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  watered  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  he  smile  his  work  to  see? 
Did  he  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee? 

Tiger,  tiger>  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night. 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

William  Blake. 

r 

The  Spacious  Firmament  on  High 
The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky. 
And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 
Their  great  Original  proclaim. 
The  unwearied  sun  from  day  to  day 
Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 
And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth ; 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
[54] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Confirm  the  tidings  as  tlicy  roll,  The 

And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole.       „       .^ 

What  though  in  solemn  silence,  all  ^ 

Move  round  this  dark,  terrestrial  ball? 

What  though  nor  real  voice  nor  sound 

Amidst  their  radiant  orbs  be  found? 

In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice. 

And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice. 

Forever  singing  as  they  shine: 

"  The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine !  " 

Joseph  Addison. 


1^5  1 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

Green  Things  Grovomg 

'*  Oht  the  fluttering  and  the  pattering  of  those  green  things 
growing! 
How  they  talk  each  to  each,  when  none  of  us  are  knoW' 
ing;  " 

'*  Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might. 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers^ 
And  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light. 
Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers;  " 

"  .    .    .    Lean  against  a  streamlefs  rushy  banks. 
And  watch  intently  Nature^s  gentle  doings; 
They  will  be  found  softer  than  ringdoves^  cooings** 

"  Dear,  tell  them,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing^ 
Then  beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being." 

'*  They  know  the  time  to  go! 
The  fairy  clocks  strike  their  inaudible  hour 
In  field  and  woodland,  and  each  punctual  floxver 
Bows  at  the  signal  an  obedient  head 
And  hastes  to  bed." 

"  If  so  the  sweetness  of  the  wheat 
Into  my  soul  might  pass. 
And  the  clear  courage  of  the  grass. 


»» 


"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies; 
Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand. 

Little  flower — but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  ond  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  ana  man  is." 


ni 

GREEN   THINGS   GROWING 

Green  Things  Growing 

Oh,  the  green  things  growing,  the  green  things 

growing, 
The  faint  sweet  smell  of  the  green  things  gro\s^ 

ing! 
I  should  like  to  live,  whether  I  smile  or  grieve, 
Just  to  watch  the  happy  life  of  my  green  things 

growing. 

Oh,  the  fluttering  and  the  pattering  of  those 
green  things  growing! 

How  they  talk  each  to  each,  when  none  of  us  are 
knowing ; 

In  the  wonderful  white  of  the  weird  moonlight 

Or  the  dim  dreamy  dawn  when  the  cocks  are  crow- 
ing. 

I  love,  I  love  them  so, — my  green  things  grow- 
ing! 

And  I  think  that  they  love  me,  without  false 
showing ; 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Green     For  by  many  a  tender  touch,  they  comfort  me  so 
Things  „^^^,h, 

Growins 

With   the   soft  mute   comfort  of   green   things 

w  growing. 

•  •  •  •  o 

Dinah  Maria  Mulock. 


The  Sigh  of  Silence 

I  stood  tiptoe  upon  a  little  hill; 
The  air  was  cooling  and  so  very  still, 
That  the  sweet  buds  which  with  a  modest  pride 
Pull  droopingly,  in  slanting  curve  aside. 
Their  scanty-leaved,  and  finely-tapering  stems, 
Had  not  yet  lost  their  starry  diadems 
Caught  from  the  early  sobbing  of  the  morn. 
The  clouds  were  pure  and  white  as  flocks  new- 
shorn, 
And  fresh  from  the  clear  brook ;  sweetly  they 

slept 
On  the  blue  fields  of  heaven,  and  then  there  crept 
A  little  noiseless  noise  among  the  leaves, 
Born  of  the  very  sigh  that  silence  heaves; 
For  not  the  faintest  motion  could  be  seen 
Of  all  the  shades  that  slanted  o'er  the  green. 
*  e     ■  •  •  • 

Jo^N   KSATS, 

r 

lag) 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree  Green 

Under  the  greenwood  tree,  Gromng 

Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 


And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats. 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

William  Shakespeare. 
From  "As  You  Like  It" 

r 

The  Planting  of  the  Apple  Tree  * 

Come,  let  us  plant  the  apple  tree. 

Cleave  the  tough  greensward  with  the  spade ; 

Wide  let  its  hollow  bed  be  made; 

There  gently  lay  the  roots,  and  there 

Sift  the  dark  mold  with  kindly  care, 

*  Bi/  courtesy  of  D.  Apple  ton  cj  Co.^  publishers  of  BryanCi 
Complete  Poetical  Works. 

[i9) 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Green  And  press  it  o'er  them  tenderly, 

1  fungi        ^g^  round  the  sleeping  infant's  feet 
\^  ^^  softly  fold  the  cradle  sheet; 

So  plant  we  the  apple  tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple  tree? 
Buds,  which  the  breath  of  summer  days 
Shall  lengthen  into  leafy  sprays ; 
Boughs  where  the  thrush,  with  crimson  breast, 
Shall  haunt  and  sing  and  hide  her  nest; 

We  plant,  upon  the  sunny  lea, 
A  shadow  for  the  noontide  hour, 
A  shelter  from  the  summer  shower, 

When  we  plant  the  apple  tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple  tree? 
Sweets  for  a  hundred  flowery  springs 
To  load  the  May  wind's  restless  wings, 
When,  from  the  orchard  row,  he  pours 
Its  fragrance  through  our  open  doors; 

A  world  of  blossoms  for  the  bee. 
Flowers  for  the  sick  girl's  silent  room, 
For  the  glad  infant  sprigs  of  bloom, 

We  plant  with  the  apple  tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple  tree? 
Fruits  that  shall  swell  in  sunny  June, 
And  redden  in  the  August  noon. 
And  drop,  when  gentle  airs  come  by. 
That  fan  the  blue  September  sky, 

1601 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

While  childi'en  come,  with  cries  of  glee,  Green 

And  seek  them  where  the  fragrant  grass  Lhings 

Betrays  their  bed  to  those  who  pass,  * 

At  the  foot  of  the  apple  tree. 

And  when,  above  this  apple  tree, 
The  winter  stars  are  quivering  bright, 
And  winds  go  howling  through  the  night, 
Girls,  whose  young  eyes  o'erflow  with  mirth, 
Shall  peel  its  fruit  by  cottage  hearth. 

And  guests  in  prouder  homes  shall  see. 
Heaped  with  the  grape  of  Cintra's  vine 
And  golden  orange  of  the  line. 

The  fruit  of  the  apple  tree. 

The  fruitage  of  this  apple  tree 
Winds,  and  our  flag  of  stripe  and  star, 
Shall  bear  to  coasts  that  lie  afar. 
Where  men  shall  wonder  at  the  view, 
And  ask  in  what  fair  groves  they  grew ; 

And  sojourners  beyond  the  sea 
Shall  think  of  childhood's  careless  day 
And  long,  long  hours  of  summer  play. 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple  tree. 

Each  year  shall  give  this  apple  tree 
A  broader  flush  of  roseate  bloom, 
A  deeper  maze  of  verdurous  gloom. 
And  loosen,  when  the  frost  clouds  lower, 
The  crisp  brown  leaves  in  thicker  shower. 

[61] 


Crotving 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Green  The  years  shall  come  and  pass,  but  we 

inings        Shall  hear  no  longer,  where  we  lie. 

The  summer's  songs,  the  autumn's  sigh. 
In  the  boughs  of  the  apple  tree. 

And  time  shall  waste  this  apple  tree. 
Oh,  when  its  aged  branches  throw 
Thin  shadows  on  the  ground  below, 
Shall  fraud  and  force  and  iron  will 
Oppress  the  weak  and  helpless  still? 

What  shall  the  tasks  of  mercy  be, 
Amid  the  toils,  the  strifes,  the  tears, 
Of  those  who  live  when  length  of  years 

Is  wasting  this  apple  tree? 

"  Who  planted  this  old  apple  tree  ?  " 
The  children  of  that  distant  day 
Thus  to  some  aged  man  shall  say; 
And,  gazing  on  its  mossy  stem. 
The  gray -haired  man  shall  answer  them: 

"  A  poet  of  the  land  was  he. 
Born  in  the  rude  but  good  old  times; 
'Tis  said  he  made  some  quaint  old  rhymes 

On  planting  the  apple  tree." 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


{69J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

An  Apple  Orchard  in  the  Spring  G'eett 

Have  you  seen  an  apple  orchard  in  the  spring?  Crondng 

In  the  spring?  to. 

An  English  apple  orchard  in  the  spring? 
When  the  spreading  trees  are  hoary 
With  their  wealth  of  promised  glory, 
And  the  mavis  sings  its  story, 

In  the  spring. 

Have   you  plucked    the   apple   blossoms   in   the 

spring?  _      ,  . 

In  the  spring? 

And  caught  their  subtle  odors  in  the  spring? 

Pink  buds  pouting  at  the  light. 

Crumpled  petals  baby  white, 

Just  to  touch  them  a  delight — 

In  the  spring. 

Have  you  walked  beneath  the  blossoms  In  the 

spring?  . 

In  the  spring? 

Beneath  the  apple  blossoms  in  the  spring? 

When  the  pink  cascades  are  falling. 

And  the  silver  brooklets  brawling, 

And  the  cuckoo  bird  soft  calling, 

In  the  spring. 

If  you  have  not,  then  you  know  not,  in  the  spring. 

In  the  spring, 
Half  the  color,  beauty,  wonder  of  the  spring, 

[63] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Green         No  sweet  sight  can  I  remember 
Tilings        Half  so  precious,  half  so  tender, 
As  the  apple  blossoms  render 
T  In  the  spring. 

William  Martin. 


srotmng 


/       Mine  Host  of  "  The  Golden  Apple  " 

A  goodly  host  one  day  was  mine, 

A  Golden  Apple  his  only  sign. 

That  hung  from  a  long  branch,  ripe  and  fine. 

My  host  was  the  bountiful  apple-tree; 
He  gave  me  shelter  and  nourished  me 
With  the  best  of  fare,  all  fresh  and  free. 

And  light-winged  guests  came  not  a  few. 
To  his  leafy  inn,  and  sipped  the  dew, 
And  sang  their  best  songs  ere  they  flew. 

I  slept  at  night  on  a  downy  bed 

Of  moss,  and  my  Host  benignly  spread 

His  own  cool  shadow  over  my  head. 

When  I  asked  what  reckoning  there  might  be, 
He  shook  his  broad  boughs  cheerily: — • 
A  blessing  be  thine,  green  Apple-tree! 

Thomas  Westwood. 

r 

t«»i 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Tree  ^    Gnxn 

Things 
I  love  thee  when  thy  swelhng  buds  appear,         (Jrotmis 

And  one  by  one  their  tender  leaves  unfold,  j^ 

As  if  they  knew  that  warmer  suns  were  near. 

Nor  longer  sought  to  hide  from  winter's  cold ; 

And  when  with  darker  growth  thy  leaves  are  seen 

To  veil  from  view  the  early  robin's  nest, 

I  love  to  lie  beneath  thy  waving  screen, 

With  limbs  by  summer's  heat  and  toil  oppressed ; 

And  when  the  autumn  winds  have  stripped  thee 

bare. 

And  round  thee  lies  the  smooth,  untrodden  snow. 

When  naught  is  thine  that  made  thee  once  so  fair, 

I  love  to  watch  thy  shadowy  form  below. 

And  through  thy  leafless  arms  to  look  above 

On  stars  that  brighter  beam  when  most  we  need 

their  love.  _  _. 

Jones  Very. 


A   Young  Fir-Wood 

These  little  firs  to-day  are  things 
To  clasp  into  a  giant's  cap, 
Or  fans  to  suit  his  lady's  lap. 

From  many  winters,  many  springs 

Shall  cherish  them  in  strength  and  sap, 
Till  they  be  marked  upon  the  map, 

A  wood  for  the  wind's  wanderings. 

1651 


G'-tmng 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

G-?e«         All  seed  is  in  the  sower's  hands: 
Things  And  what  at  first  was  trained  to  spread 

Its  shelter  for  some  single  head, — 
?  Yea,  even  such  fellowship  of  wands, — 

May  hide  the  sunset,  and  the  shade 
Of  its  great  multitude  be  laid 
Upon  the  earth  and  elder  sands. 

Dante  G.  Rossetti. 


J 


The  Snowing  of  the  Pines 
Softer  than  silence,  stiller  than  still  air 
Float  down  from  high  pine-boughs  the  slende* 

leaves. 
The  forest  floor  its  annual  boon  receives 
That  comes  like  snowfall,  tireless,  tranquil,  fair. 
Genth"^  they  glide,  gently  they  clothe  the  bare 
Old  rocks  with  grace.    Their  fall  a  mantle  weaves 
Of  paler  yellow  than  autumnal  sheaves 
Or  those  strange  blossoms  the  witch-hazels  wear. 
Athwart  long  aisles  the  sunbeams  pierce   their 

way; 
High  up,  the  crows  are  gathering  for  the  night; 
The  delicate  needles  fill  the  air;  the  jay  / 

Takes   through   their   golden   mist    his   radiant 

flight; 
They  fall  and  fall,  till  at  November's  close 
The  snow-flakes  drop  as  lightly — snows  on  snows, 
Thomas  Went  worth  Higginson. 
166} 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Procession  of  the  Flowers  Green 

— ,.     .  .,  .  Thins's 

First  came  the  primrose,  Groiving 

On  the  bank  high, 
Like  a  maiden  looking  forth 
From  the  window  of  a  tower 
When  the  battle  rolls  below, 

So  look'd  she. 
And  saw  the  storms  go  by. 

Then  came  the  wind-flower 
In  the  valley  left  behind, 
As  a  wounded  maiden,  pale 
With  purple  streaks  of  woe. 
When  the  battle  has  roU'd  by 
Wanders  to  and  fro. 
So  totter'd  she, 
Dishevell'd  in  the  wind. 

Then  came  the  daisies. 
On  the  first  of  May, 
Like  a  banner'd  show's  advance 
While  the  crowd  runs  by  the  way. 
With  ten  thousand  flowers  about  them  they  came 
trooping  through  the  fields. 

As  a  happy  people  come, 

So  came  they, 
As  a  happy  people  come 
When  the  war  has  roli'd  away, 

(6n 


Green 

Things 
Growhig 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

With  dance  and  tabor,  pipe  and  drum> 
And  all  make  holiday. 

Then  came  the  coAvslip, 

Like  a  dancer  in  the  fair, 

She  spread  her  little  mat  of  green, 

And  on  it  danced  she. 

With  a  fillet  bound  about  her  brow, 

A  fillet  round  her  happy  brow, 

A  golden  fillet  round  her  brow, 

And  rubies  in  her  hair. 

Sydney  Dobell. 


Sxveet  Peas 

Here  are  sweet  peas,  on  tiptoe  for  a  flight: 
With  wings  of  gentle  flush  o'er  delicate  white, 
And  taper  fingers  catching  at  all  things, 
To  bind  them  all  about  with  tiny  rings. 
Linger  awhile  upon  some  bending  planks 
That  lean  against  a  streamlet's  rushy  banks. 
And  watch  intently  Nature's  gentle  doings: 
They  will  be  found  softer  than  ringdove's  coo» 

ings. 
How  silent  comes  the  water  round  that  bend ! 
Not  the  minutest  whisper  does  it  send 
To  the  o'erhanging  sallows :  blades  of  grass 
Slowly  across  the  chequer'd  shadows  pass. 

John  Keats. 
168] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


A  Snowdrop  Green 

Only  a  tender  little  thinff,  --, 

So  velvet  soft  and  white  it  is ; 


But  March  himself  is  not  so  strong, 
With  all  the  great  gales  that  are  his. 

In  vain  his  whistling  storms  he  calls, 
In  vain  the  cohorts  of  his  power 

Ride  down  the  sky  on  mighty  blasts — 
He  cannot  crush  the  little  flower. 

Its  white  spear  parts  the  sod,  the  snows 
Than  that  white  spear  less  snowy  are. 
The  rains  roll  off  its  crest  like  spray, 
It  lifts  again  its  spotless  f^tar, 
.•  •  •  ^  • 

Hakeiet   Prescott  yvOFJOHX' 


Almond  Blossom 

Blossom  of  the  almond  treps. 
April's  gift  to  April's  bees. 
Birthday  ornament  of  spring, 
Flora's   fairest  daughterling ; 
Coming  when  no  flowerets  dare 
Trust  the  cruel  outer  air; 
When  the  roj^al  kingcup  bold 
Dares  not  don  his  coat  of  gold; 
169] 


o 


¥ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Green 

Things 

tjrowing 


r 


And  the  sturdy  black-thorn  spray 

Keeps  his  silver  for  the  May; — 

Coming  when  no  flowerets  would, 

Save  thy  lowly  sisterhood, 

Early  violets,  blue  and  white, 

Dying  for  tlieir  love  of  light. 

Almond  blossom,  sent  to  teach  us 

That  the  spring-days  soon  will  reach  us. 

Lest,  with  longing  over-tried. 

We  die,  as  the  violets  died — - 

Blossom,  clouding  all  the  tree 

With  thy  crimson  broidery, 

Long  before  a  leaf  of  green 

O'er  the  bravest  bough  is  seen ; 

Ah!  when  winter  winds  are  swinging 

All  thy  red  bells  into  ringing, 

With  a  bee  in  every  bell, 

Almond  blossom,  we  greet  thee  well. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


r 


wild  Rose 

Some  innocent  girlish  Kisses  by  a  charm 

Changed  to  a  flight  of  small  pink  ButterflleSj, 
To  waver  under  June's  delicious  skies 
Across  gold-sprinkled  meads — the  merry  swarm 
A  smiling  powerful  word  did  next  transform 

{70  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


To  little  Roses  mesh'd  in  green,  allies  Green 

Of  earth  and  air,  and  everything  we  prize        Ihings 
For  mirthful,  gentle,  delicate,  and  warm.  ° 

•  •  ■  •  ■  ^w 

William  Allingham. 


Tiger-Lilies 
I  like  not  lady-slippers, 
Nor  yet  the  sweet-pea  blossoms, 
Nor  yet  the  flaky  roses, 
Red,  or  white  as  snow; 
I  like  the  chaliced  lilies, 
The  heavy  Eastern  lilies, 
The  gorgeous  tiger-lilies, 
That  in  our  garden  grow! 

For  they  are  tall  and  slender; 

Their  mouths  are  dashed  with  carmine, 

And  when  the  wind  sweeps  by  them, 

On  their  emerald  stalks 

They  bend  so  proud  and  graceful, — 

They  are  Circassian  women, 

The  favorites  of  the  Sultan, 

Adown  our  garden  walks ! 

And  when  the  rain  is  falling, 
I  sit  beside  the  window 
And  watch  them  glow  and  glisten, — 
How  they  burn  and  glow! 
[71] 


Grotmig 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Gieen  O  for  the  burning  lilies, 

J^""F_  The  tender  Eastern  liHes, 

The  gorgeous  tiger-lilies, 
That  in  our  garden  grow ! 

Thomas  Bailey  AldeicHo 

r 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian  * 

Thou  blossom  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue. 
That  openest,  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night; 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 

O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 

Or  columbines  in  purple  dressed, 

Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late,  and  com'st  alone. 
When  woods  are  bare,  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frosts  and  shortening  daj^s  portend 
The  aged  Year  is  near  his  end. 


"tn^ 


Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky. 
Blue — blue — as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

*  By  courtesy  of  D.  Appleton  ^  Co.,  publishers  of  Bryant^t 
Complete  Poetical  Works. 

[72  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


To  a  Mountain  Daisy 
On  Turning  One  Dmcn  With  the  Plo7igh  in  April. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  pow'r, 

Thou  bonnie  gem! 

Alas !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet. 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet, 

Wi'  spreckl'd  breast, 
When  upward-springing,  blithe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  rear'd  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 


Green 

Things 

Gromng 


Green 

Things 

Growing 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  flaunting  flow'rs  our  gardens  yield, 
High  shelt'ring  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield ; 
But  tliou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

()'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sun-ward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed. 

And  low  thou  lies. 


Robert  Burns. 


Bind-Weed 

In  the  deep  shadow  of  the  porch 

A  slender  bind-weed  springs. 
And  climbs,  like  airy  acrobat. 

The  trellises,  and  swings 
And  dances  in  the  golden  sun 

In  fairy  loops  and  rings. 

Its  cup-shaped  blossoms,  brimmed  with  dew. 

Like  pearly  chalices, 
Hold  cooling  fountains,  to  refresh 

The  butterflies  and  bees; 
[74] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  humming-birds  on  vibrant  wings  Green 

Hover,  to  drink  at  ease.  Things 

Growifig 

And  up  and  down  the  garden-beds,  ^ 

Mid  box  and  thyme  and  yew, 
And  spikes  of  purple  lavender. 

And  spikes  of  larkspur  blue, 
The  bind-weed  tendrils  win  their  way, 

And  find  a  passage  through. 

With  touches  coaxing,  delicate, 

And  arts  that  never  tire. 
They  tie  the  rose-trees  each  to  each. 

The  lilac  to  the  brier, 
Making  for  graceless  things  a  grace, 

With  steady,  sweet  desire. 

Till  near  and  far  the  garden  growths. 

The  sweet,  the  frail,  the  rude. 
Draw  close,  as  if  with  one  consent, 

And  find  each  other  good. 
Held  by  the  bind-weed's  pliant  loops. 

In  a  dear  brotherhood. 

Like  one  fair  sister,  slender,  arch, 

A  flower  in  bloom  and  poise, 
Gtntle  and  merry  and  beloved. 

Making  no  stir  or  noise, 
But  swaying,  linking,  blessing  all 

A  family  of  boys, 

Susan  Coolisss. 


*6 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Green  The  Rhodora 

Gromtif  ^"  ^^J'  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 
I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook. 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook : 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool 
Made  the  black  waters  with  their  beauty  gay ; 
Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 
And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 
Rhodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 
This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 
Dear,  tell  them,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 
Then  beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being. 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose! 
I  never  thought  to  ask;  I  never  knew, 
But  in  my  simple  ignorance  suppose 
The    selfsame    Power    that    brought   me    there, 
brought  you. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 


A  Song  of  Clover 

I  wonder  what  the  Clover  thinks, — 
Intimate  friend  of  Bob-o'-links, 
Lover  of  Daisies  slim  and  white, 
Waltzer  with  Buttercups  at  night; 
Keeper  of  Inn  for  traveling  Bees, 
Serving  to  them  wine-dregs  and  leest 
[76] 


GOLDEN    JS  UMBERS 

Left  by  the  Royal  Humming  Birds,  Green 


Who  sip  and  pay  with  fine-spun  words ; 
Fellow  with  all  the  lowliest, 
Peer  of  the  gayest  and  the  best; 
Comrade  of  winds,  beloved  of  sun, 
Kissed  by  the  Dew-drops,  one  by  one; 
Prophet  of  Good-Luck  mystery 
By  sign  of  four  which  few  may  see; 
Symbol  of  Nature's  magic  zone, 
One  out  of  three,  and  three  in  one; 
Emblem  of  comfort  in  the  speech 
Which  poor  men's  babies  early  reach; 
Sweet  by  the  roadsides,  sweet  by  rills. 
Sweet  in  the  meadows,  sweet  on  hills. 
Sweet  in  its  white,  sweet  in  its  red, — - 
Oh,  half  its  sweetness  cannot  be  said ; — 
Sweet  in  its  every  living  breath. 
Sweetest,  perhaps,  at  last,  in  death ! 
Oh !  who  knows  what  the  Clover  thinks? 
No  one !  unless  the  Bob-o'-links ! 

"  Saxe  Holm." 

To  the  Dandelion 
(Extract) 

Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the 
way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 
First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
[77] 


Things- 
Gromng 

r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Green    Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride  upholdi 
Ihtngs        High-hearted  buccaneers,  o'er  joyed  that  the^ 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found, 
▼  Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 

May  match  in  wealth,  thou  art  more  dear  to  me 
Than  all  the  prouder  summer-blooms  may  be. 
James  Russell  Lowell. 

r 

To  Daffodils 

Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon ; 
As  yet  the  early-rising  sun 

Has  not  attained  his  noon. 
Stay,  stay, 

Until  the  hastening  day 
Has  run 

But  to  the  even-song; 
And,  having  prayed  together,  we 

Will  go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you, 

We  have  as  short  a  spring; 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay. 
As   you,   or    anything. 
We  die 
As  your  hours  do,  and  dry 
Away, 
[78] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Like  to  the  summer's  rain;  Green 

Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning's  dew,  JJ^ng 

Ne'er  to  be  found  again.  ^ 

Robert  Herrick.  ' 

r 

The  Daffodils 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills. 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, — 
A  host,  of  golden  daffodils. 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees. 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way. 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay: 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance. 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 

Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee; 
A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay 

In  such  a  jocund  company. 
I  gazed,  and  gazed,  but  little  thought 
What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought: 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 

[79] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Green         They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Things  Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 

And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

William  Wordsworth. 


G  roiling 


The  White  Anemone 

'Tis  the  white  anemone,  fashioned  so 

Like  to  the  stars  of  the  winter  snow, 

First  thinks,  "  If  I  come  too  soon,  no  doubt 

I  shall  seem  but  the  snow  that  stayed  too  long, 

So  'tis  I  that  will  be  Spring's  unguessed  scout," 

And  wide  she  wanders  the  woods  among. 

Then,  from  out  of  the  mossiest  hiding-places, 

Smile  meek  moonlight-colored  faces 

Of  pale  primroses  puritan, 

In  maiden  sisterhood  demure; 

Each  virgin  floweret  faint  and  wan 

Witli  the  bliss  of  her  own  sweet  breath  so  pure. 

«  •  •  •  • 

Owen  Meredith. 
(Edward  Robert  Bulwer-Lytton.) 

r 


I8w] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The  Grass  Things 


The  grass  so  little  has  to  do, — 

A  sphere  of  simple  green. 
With  only  butterflies  to  brood, 

And  bees  to  entertain, 

And  stir  all  day  to  pretty  tunes 

The  breezes  fetch  along, 
And  hold  the  sunshine  in  its  lap 

And  bow  to  everything; 

And  thread  the  dews  all  night,  like  pearls. 

And  make  itself  so  fine, — 
A  duchess  were  too  common 

For  such  a  noticing. 

And  even  when  it  dies,  to  pass 

In  odors  so  divine. 
As  lowly  spices  gone  to  sleep, 

Or  amulets  of  pine. 

And  then  to  dwell  in  sovereign  barns. 

And  dream  the  days  away, — 
The  grass  so  little  has  to  do, 

I  wish  I  were  the  hay! 

Emily  Dickinson. 


1811 


Growing 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Green  The  Corn-Song 

Things 
Gromi?ig       Heap  high  the   farmer's   wintry  hoam; 

to,  Heap  high  the  golden  corn ! 

No  richer  gift  has  Autumn  poured 

From  out  her  lavish  horn! 

Let  other  lands,  exulting,  glean 

The  apple  from  the  pine. 
The  orange  from  its  gloss}'  green, 

The  cluster  from  the  vine; 

We  better  love  the  hardy  gift 

Our  rugged  vales  bestow. 
To  cheer  us  when  the  storm  shall  drift 

Our   harvest-fields   with   snow. 

Through  vales  of  grass  and  meads  of  flowers, 
Our  ploughs  their  furrows  made, 

While  on  the  hills  the  sun  and  showers 
Of  changeful  April  played. 

We  dropped  the  seed  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

Beneath  the  sun  of  May, 
And  frightened  from  our  sprouting  grain 

The  robber  crows  away. 

All  through  the  long,  bright  days  of  June 
Its  leaves  grew  green  and  fair. 

And  waved  in  hot  midsummer's  noon 
Its  soft  and  yellow  hair. 

[mi 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  now  with  autumn's  moonlit  eves, 
Its  harvest-time  has  come, 

We  pluck  away  the  fi'osted  leaves, 
And  bear  the  treasure  home. 


Green 

Things 

Grotving 


There  richer  than  the  fabled  gift 

Apollo  showered  of  old, 
Fair  hands  the  broken  grain  shall  sift, 

And  knead  its  meal  of  gold. 

Let  vapid  idlers  loll  in  silk 
Around  their  costly  board; 

Give  us  the  bowl  of  samp  and  milk, 
By  homespun  beauty  poured! 

Where'er  the  wide  old  kitchen  hearth 

Sends  up  its  smoky  curls, 
Who  will  not  thank  the  kindly  earth, 

And  bless  our  farmer  girls ! 

Then  shame  on  all  the  proud  and  vain, 
Whose  folly  laughs  to  scorn 

The  blessing  of  our  hardy  grain, 
Our  wealth  of  golden  corn ! 

Let  earth  withhold  her  goodly  root. 

Let  mildew  blight  the  rye, 
Give  to  the  worm  the  orchard's  fruit, 

The  wheat  field  to  the  fly : 
[83] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Green 

Things 

Groiving 


'€ 


But  let  the  good  old  crop  adorn 
The  liills  our  fathers  trod; 

Still  let  us  for  his  golden  com, 
Send  up  our  thanks  to  God! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittiee. 

r 

Columbians  Emblem 

Blazon  Columbia's  emblem 

The  bounteous,  golden  Corn! 
Eons  ago,  of  the  great  sun's  glow 

And  the  joy  of  the  earth,  'twas  born. 
From  Superior's  shore  to  Chili, 

From  the  ocean  of  dawn  to  the  west, 
With  its  banners  of  green  and  silken  sheen 

It  sprang  at  the  sun's  behest; 
And  by  dew  and  shower,  from  its  natal  hour, 

With  honey  and  wine  'twas  fed, 
Till  on  slope  and  plain  the  gods  were  fain 

To  share  the  feast  outspread: 
For  the  rarest  boon  to  the  land  they  loved 

Was  the  Corn  so  rich  and  fair, 
Nor  star  nor  breeze  o'er  the  farthest  seas 

Could  find  its  like  elsewhere. 

In  their  holiest  temples  the   Incas 
Offered  the  heaven-sent  Maize — 

Grains  wrought  of  gold,  in  a  silver  fold, 
For  the  sun's  enraptured  gaze; 
[84] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  its  hai-vest  came  to  the  wandering  tribes       Green 

As  the  gods'  own  gift  and  seal,  I'hings 

And  Montezuma's  festal  bread  "° 

Was  made  of  its  sacred  meal.  ▼ 

Narrow  their  cherished  fields ;  but  ours 

Are  broad  as  the  continent's  breast, 
And,  lavish  as  leaves,  the  rustling  sheaves 

Bring  plenty  and  joy  and  rest; 
For  they  strew  the  plains  and  crowd  the  wains 

When  the  reapers  meet  at  morn. 
Till  blithe  cheers  ring  and  west  winds  sing 

A  song  for  the  garnered  Corn. 

The  rose  may  bloom  for  England, 

The  lily  for  France  unfold; 
Ireland  may  honor  the  shamrock, 

Scotland  her  thistle  bold ; 
But  the  shield  of  the  great  Republic, 

The  glory  of  the  West, 
Shall  bear  a  stalk  of  the  tasseled  Corn — 

The  sun's  supreme  bequest! 
The  arbutus  and  the  golden  rod 

The  heart  of  the  North  may  cheer, 
And  the  mountain  laurel  for  Maryland 

Its  royal  clusters  rear. 
And  jasmine  and  magnolia 

The  crest  of  the  South  adorn; 
But  the  wide  Republic's  emblem 

Is  the  bounteous,  golden  Corn ! 

Edna  Dean  Proctoe. 
[85] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


Green 

Things 

0-romng 


r 


Scythe  Song  * 

Mowers,  weary  and  brown,  and  blithe, 

What  is  the  word  methinks  ye  know, 
Endless  over-word  that  the  Scythe 

Sings  to  the  blades  of  the  grass  below? 
Scythes  that  swing  in  the  grass  and  clover. 

Something,  still,  they  say  as  they  pass ; 
What  is  the  word  that,  over  and  over, 

Sings  the  Scythe  to  the  flowers  and  grass? 

Hush,  ah  hush,  the  Scythes  are  saying. 

Hush,  and  heed  not,  and  fall  asleep; 
Hush,  they  say  to  the  grasses  swaying, 

Hush,  they  sing  to  the  clover  deep! 
Hush — 'tis  the  lullaby  Time  is  singing — ■ 

Hush,  and  heed  not,  for  all  things  pass. 
Hush,  ah  hush!  and  the  Scythes  are  swinging 

Over  the  clover,  over  the  grass ! 

Andrew  Lang. 


Time  to  Go 

They  know  the  time  to  go! 
The  fairy  clocks  strike  their  inaudible  hour 
In  field  and  woodland,  and  each  punctual  flower 
Bows  at  the  signal  an  obedient  head 

And  hastes  to  bed. 

•  By  courtesy  of  Longmans,  Green  S[  Co. 
[86] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  pale  Anemone  Green 

Glides  on  her  way  with  scarcely  a  good-night;  'I'fitngs 

The  Violets  tie  their  purple  nightcaps  tight;  romn^ 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  the  dancing  Columbines,  t 

In  blithesome  lines, 

Drop  their  last   courtesies, 
Flit  from  the  scene,  and  couch  them  for  their 

rest; 
The  Meadow  Lily  folds  her  scarlet  vest 
And  hides   it   'neath   the   Grasses'   lengthening 
green ; 
Fair  and  serene, 

Her  sister  Lily  floats 
On  the  blue  pond,  and  raises  golden  eyes 
To  court  the  golden  splendor  of  the  skies, — 
The  sudden  signal  comes,  and  down  she  goes 

To  find  repose 

In  the  cool  depths  below. 
A  little  later,  and  the  Asters  blue 
Depart  in  crowds,  a  brave  and  cheery  crew; 
While  Golden-rod,  still  wide  awake  and  gay. 

Turns  him  away, 

Furls  his  bright  parasol, 
And,  like  a  little  hero,  meets  his  fate. 
The  Gentians,  very  proud  to  sit  up  late, 
Next  follow.     Ever}^  Fern  is  tucked  and  set 

'Neath  coverlet, 

^8:] 


(s^ronmig 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Green  Downy  and  soft  and  warm. 

Things    A^Q  little  seedling  voice  is  heard  to  grieve 

Or  make  complaints  the  folding  woods  beneath; 

No  lingerer  dares  to  stay,  for  well  they  know 
The  time  to  go. 

Teach  us  your  patience,  brave, 
Dear  flowers,  till  we  shall  dare  to  part  like  you, 
Willing  God's  will,  sure  that  his  clock  strikes 

true, 
That  his  sweet  day  augurs  a  sweeter  morrow, 
With  smiles,  not  sorrow. 

Susan  Coolidge. 


The  Death  of  the  Flowers  * 
The  melancholy  days  have  come,  the  saddest  of 

the  year. 
Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows 

brown  and  sere. 
Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove,  the  withered 

leaves  lie  dead; 
They   rustle  to  the   eddying  gust,   and  to  the 

rabbit's  tread. 
The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the 

shrubs  the  jay. 
And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow,  through 

all  the  gloomy  day. 

*  Bi/  coairtesy  of  D.  Appleton  ^  Co.,  publishers  of  Bryant" t 
Complete  Poetical  Works. 

[88] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,     Green 

that  lately  sprang  and  stood  Things 

In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  * 

sisterhood  ?  ? 

Alas!  they  all   are  in  their  graves,  the   gentle 

race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and 

good  of  ours. 
The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but  the  cold, 

November  rain. 
Calls  not,  from  out  the  gloomy  earth,  the  lovely 

ones  again. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,   they  perished 

long  ago, 
And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchids  died  amid  the 

summer  glow; 
But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in 

the  wood. 
And    the    yellow    sun-flower    by    the    brook    in 

autumn  beauty  stood, 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear,  cold  heaven,  as 

falls  the  plague  on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from 

upland,  glade,  and  glen. 

And  now,  when  comes  the  calm,  mild  day,  as  still 

such  days  will  come, 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their 

winter  home; 

[89] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Green    When    the   sound   of   dropping   nuts   is   heard, 
L lungs  though  all  the  trees  arc  still, 

*  And  tAvinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the 
^  rill, 

The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose 

fragrance  late  he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the 
stream  no  more. 

William  Cullen  Beyant. 


Autumn's  Mirth 

'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
For,  watch  the  rain  among  the  leaves ; 
With  silver  fingers  dimly  seen 
It  makes  each  leaf  a  tambourine, 
And  swings  and  leaps  with  elfin  mirth 
To  kiss  the  brow  of  mother  earth; 
Or,  laughing  'mid  the  trembling  grass. 
It  nods  a  greeting  as  you  pass. 
Oh!  hear  the  rain  amid  the  leaves, 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves! 

'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves. 
For,  list  the  wind  among  the  sheaves; 
Far  sweeter  than  the  breath  of  May, 
Or  storied  scents  of  old  Cathay, 
[90] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

It  blends  the  perfumes  rare  and  good 
Of  spicy  pine  and  hickory  wood 
And  with  a  voice  in  gayest  chime. 
It  prates  of  rifled  mint  and  thyme. 
Oh!  scent  the  wind  among  the  sheaves, 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves! 

'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
Behold  the  wondrous  web  she  weaves! 
By  viewless  hands  her  thread  is  spun 
Of  evening  vapors  shyly  won. 
Across  the  grass  from  side  to  side 
A  myriad  unseen  shuttles  glide 
Throughout  the  night,  till  on  the  height 
Aurora  leads  the  laggard  light. 
Behold  the  wondrous  web  she  weaves, 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves ! 

Samuel  Mintubn  Peck. 


Green 
Things 
Growing 


[911 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

On  the  IVing 

Our  "  little  brothers  of  the  air,"  have  you  named  them  aU 
without  a  gun,  as  Emerson  asks  in  "  Forbearance  "? 
*S'%,    glancing   eyes    peer    from    nests    half-hidden   in 
leaves;  the  forest  is  vocal  with  melody,  the  air  is  tremu- 
laas  with  the  whirr  of  tiny  wings. 

Poet-svngers  have  written  undying  lines  about  their 
brother  minstrels  of  the  wood,  and  the  "  blithe  lark,*- 
especially,  has  a  proud  place  in  poetry,  apostrophized 
as  he  is  by  Shakespeare,  SJielley,  Frederick  Tennyson, 
Wordswo7-th,  and  The  Ettrick  Shepherd. 
As  the  skylark's  note  dies  away  we  hear  the  saucy 
chatter  of  Cranclis  Bobolink,  the  twitter  of  Keats's 
Goldfinches,  the  mournful  cry  of  Celia  Thaxter's  Sand^ 
piper,  and  the  revohnng  wheel  of  Emily  Dickinson's 
Humming-bird,  with  its  resonance  of  emerald,  its  rush 
of  cochineal.  The  feathered  ivarblers,  Robin,  Blue- 
bird, Swallow,  speed  their  southern  flight,  but  there 
are  other  songs  of  summer,  voices  of  sweet  and  tiny 
cousins,  heard  at  the  lazy  noontide;  chirpings,  rustlings 
of  the  green  little  vault ers  in  the  sunny  grass.  And 
if  the  wee  grasshoppers  and  those  warm  little  house- 
keepers the  crickets,  have  served  as  tJiemes  for  Keats 
and  Leigh  Hunt,  so  has  the  humble  bee  provoked  his 
tribute  from  the  poets: 

"  His  feet  are  sJiod  with  gauze. 
His  helmet  is  of  gold  ; 
His  breast  a  single  onyx 

With  chrysophrase  inlaid.''* 

Come  within  earshot  of  his  drowsy  hum,  his  breezy  bass^ 
— Father  T abb's  publican  bee, 

"  Collecting  the  tax 

On  honey  and  wax," 

§r  Emerson's  yellow-breeched  philosopher, 

"  Seeing  only  what  us  fair. 
Sipping  only  whal  ig  sweet." 


IV 
ON   THE   WING 


Sing  On,  Blithe  Bird! 

l.'VE  plucked  the  berry  from  the  bush,  the  brown 

nut  from  the  tree, 
But  heart  of  happy  Httle  bird  ne'er  broken  was 

by  me. 
I  saw  them  in  their  curious  nests,  close  couching, 

slyly  peer 
With  their  wild  eyes,  like  glittering  beads,  to 

note  if  harm  were  near; 
I  passed  them  by,  and  blessed  them  all;  I  felt 

that  it  was  good 
To  leave  unmoved  the  creatures  small  whose  home 

was  in  the  wood. 

And   here,   even   now,   above  my   head,   a   lusty 

rogue  doth  sing; 
He  pecks  his  swelling  breast  and  neck,  and  trims 

his  little  wing. 
He  will  not  fly ;  he  knows  full  well,  while  chirping 

on  that  spray, 
I  would  not  harm  him  for  a  world,  or  interrupt 

his  lay. 

r93] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

On  the    Sing  on,  sing  on,  blithe  bird !  and  fill  mj  heart 
'"^  with  summer  gladness; 

f"       It  has  been  aching  many  a  day  with  measures 
full  of  sadness ! 

William  Motherwell. 

r 

To  a  Skylark 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit! 
Bird  thou  never  wert — 
That  from  heaven  or  near  it 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 
From  the  earth  thou  springest 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire; 
The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever 
singest. 

In  the  golden  light'ning 
Of  the  sunken  sun. 
O'er  which  clouds  are  bright'ning, 
Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  embodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun 

The  pale  purple  even 
Melts  around  thy  flight; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven 
L9^] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

In  the  broad  daylight,  On  the 

Thou    art    unseen,    but   yet   I   hear    thy    shrill     ^*"^ 
delight —  <f 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 
Of  that  silver  sphere 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 
In  the  white  dawn  clear, 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel,  that  it  is  there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 
With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare. 
From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is 
overflow'd. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not; 
What  is  most  like  thee? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody : — 

Like  a  poet  hidden 
In  the  light  of  thought. 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 
Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 
In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 
[951 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

0«  the  Soul  in  secret  hour 

JIT* 

ff^^g    With  music  sweet  as  love  which  overflows  her 
yf  bower : 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 
In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass  which  screen  it  from 
the  view: 

Like  a  rose  embow'red 
By  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflow'red, 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy- 
winged  thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 
On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awak'ned  flowers, — 
All  that  ever  was. 
Joyous  and  clear  and  fresh, — thy  music  doth 
surpass. 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 
What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine: 
I  have  never  heard 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

(96] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Chorus  hymeneal  On  the 

Or  triumphal  chant,  '"^ 

Matched  with  thine,  would  be  all  f* 

But  an  empty  vaunt — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden 
want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 
Of  thy  happy  strain? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind?  what  ignorance 
of  pain? 

With  thy  clear  keen  joyance 
Languor  cannot  be: 
Shadow  of  annoyance 
Never  came  near  thee : 
Thou  lovest,  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep, 
Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream. 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal 
stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after, 
And  pine  for  what  is  not: 
Our  sincerest  laughter 
[9-3 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Oh  the  With  some  pain  is  fraught; 

"^     Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest 
^  thought. 

Yet,  if  we  could  scorn 
Hate  and  pride  and  fear, 
If  we  were  things  born 
Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 
Of  delightful  sound. 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found. 
Thy    skill   to    poet   were,   thou   scorner   of   the 
ground ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 
That  thy  brain  must  know; 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow 
The  world  should  listen  then  as  I  am  listening 
now. 

Peecy  Bysshe  Shellet. 


[98] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sir  Lark  and  King  Sun:  A  Parable  On  tht 

"  Good  morrow,  mv  lord !  "  in  the  sky  alone, 

Sang  the  lark  as  the  sun  ascended  his  throne.  ▼ 

"  Shine  on  me,  my  lord ;  I  only  am  come, 

Of  all  3'our  servants,  to  welcome  you  home. 

I  have  flown  right  up,  a  whole  hour,  I  swear, 

To  catch  the  first  shine  of  your  golden  hair." 

"  Must  I  thank  you  then,"  said  the  king,  "  Sir 

Lark, 
For  flying  so  high  and  hating  the  dark? 
You  ask  a  full  cup  for  half  a  thirst: 
Half  was  love  of  me,  and  half  love  to  be  first. 
There's  many  a  bird  makes  no  such  haste, 
But  waits  till  I  come :  that's  as  much  to  my  taste." 

And  King  Sun  hid  his  head  in  a  turban  of  cloud, 
And  Sir  Lark  stopped  singing,  quite  vexed  and 

cowed ; 
But  he  flew  up  higher,  and  thought,  "  Anon 
The  wrath  of  the  king  will  be  over  and  gone; 
And  his  crown,  shining  out  of  its  cloudy  fold, 
Will  change  my  brown  feathers  to  a  glory  of 

gold." 

So  he  flew — with  the  strength  of  a  lark  he  flew; 
But,  as  he  rose,  the  cloud  rose  too; 
And  not  one  gleam  of  the  golden  hair 
Came  through  the  depths  of  the  misty  air; 

[99] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

On  the   Till,  weary  with  flying,  with  sighing  sore, 
ning    The  strong  sun-seeker  could  do  no  more. 


r 


His  wings  had  had  no  chrism  of  gold; 
And  his  feathers  felt  withered  and  worn  and  old ; 
He  faltered,  and  sank,  and  dropped  like  a  stone. 
And  there  on  his  nest,  where  he  left  her,  alone 
Sat  his  little  wife  on  her  little  eggs, 
Keeping  them  warm  with  wings  and  legs. 

Did  I  say  alone?     Ah,  no  such  thing! 

Full  in  her  face  was  shining  the  king. 

*'  Welcome,  Sir  Lark !    You  look  tired,"  said  he ; 

"  Up  is  not  always  the  best  way  to  me. 

While  you  have  been  singing  so  high  and  away, 

I've  been  shining  to  your  little  wife  all  day." 

He  had  set  his  crown  all  about  the  nest, 
And   out   of  the   midst   shone   her  little  brown 

breast ; 
And  so  glorious  was  she  in  russet  gold. 
That  for  wonder  and  awe  Sir  Lark  grew  cold. 
He  popped  his  head  under  her  wing,  and  lay 
As  still  as  a  stone,  till  King  Sun  was  away. 

George  MacDonald. 

r 


IIOO] 


a 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Skylark  *  On  the 

Plow  the  blithe  Lark  runs  up  the  golden  stair 
That  leans  thro'  cloudy  gates  from  Heaven 
to  Earth, 
And  all  alone  in  the  empyreal  air 

Fills  it  with  jubilant  sweet  songs  of  mirth; 
How  far  he  seems,  how  far 

With  the  light  upon  his  wings, 
Is  it  a  bird  or  star 

That  shines  and  sings? 

•  •  •  •  • 

And  now  he  dives  into  a  rainbow's  rivers; 

In  streams  of  gold  and  purple  he  is  drown'd; 
Shrilly  the  arrows  of  his  song  he  shivers. 
As  tho'  the  stormy  drops  were  turned  to  sound : 
And  now  he  issues  thro', 

He  scales  a  cloudy  tower; 
Faintly,  like  falling  dew, 
His  fast  notes  shower. 

•  •  •  •  a 

Frederick  Tennysou, 
•  By  courtesy  of  John  Lane. 


lies 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  the  The  Skylark 

Bird  of  the  wilderness, 
Blithesome   and   cumberless, 

Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea! 
Emblem  of  happiness, 
Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place, — 

Oh,  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee! 
Wild  is  thy  lay  and  loud 
Far  in  the  downy  cloud. 

Love  gives  it  energy,  love  gave  it  birth! 
Where,  on  thy  dewy  wing, 
Where  art  thou  journeying? 

Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  on  earth. 

O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen, 
O'er  moor  and  mountain  green. 

O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day, 
Over  the  cloudlet  dim, 
Over  the  rainbow's  rim. 

Musical  cherub,  soar,  singing,  away ! 
Then,  when  the  gloaming  comes, 
Low  in  the  heather  blooms 

Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be! 
Emblem  of  happiness. 
Blest  Is  thy  dwelling-place — 

Oh,  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee ! 

James  Hogg. 
(The  Ettrick  Shepherd.) 
[102] 


r 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The  Bobolinks  On  the 

Wing 

When  Nature  had  made  all  her  birds, 

With  no  more  cares  to  think  on, 
She  gave  a  rippling  laugh,  and  out 

There  flew  a  Bobolinkon. 

She  laughed  again;  out  flew  a  mate; 

A  breeze  of  Eden  bore  them 
Across  the  fields  of  Paradise, 

The  sunrise  reddening  o'er  them. 

Incarnate  sport  and  holiday, 

They  flew  and  sang  forever; 
Their  souls  through  June  were  all  in  tune. 

Their  wings  were  Vvcary  never. 

Their  tribe,  still  drunk  with  air  and  light. 

And  perfume  of  the  meadow. 
Go  reeling  up  and  down  the  sky. 

In  sunshine  and  in  shadow. 

One  sprin<gs  from  out  the  dew-wet  grass; 

Another  follows  after; 
The  morn  is  thrilling  with  their  songs 

And  peals  of  fairy  laughter. 

From  out  the  marshes  and  the  brook. 

They  set  the  tall  reeds  swinging. 
And  meet  and  frolic  in  the  air. 

Half  prattling  and  half  singing, 
[103] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  the  When  morning  winds  sweep  meadow-lands 

"'^  In  green  and  russet  billows, 

And  toss  the  lonely  elm-tree's  boughs, 
And  silver  all  the  willows, 

I  see  you  buffeting  the  breeze, 
Or  with  its  motion  swaying, 

Your  notes  half  drowned  against  the  wind, 
Or  down  the  current  playing. 

When  far  away  o'er  grassy  flats, 
Where  the  thick  wood  commences, 

The  white-sleeved  mowers  look  like  specks, 
Beyond  the  zigzag  fences, 

And  noon  is  hot,  and  barn-roofs  gleam 
White  in  the  pale  blue  distance, 

I  hear  the  saucy  minstrels  still 
In  chattering  persistence. 

When  eve  her  domes  of  opal  fire 
Piles  round  the  blue  horizon. 

Or  thunder  rolls  from  hill  to  hill 
A  Kyrie  Eleison, 

Still  merriest  of  the  merry  birds, 
Your  sparkle  is  unfading, — 

Pied  harlequins  of  June, — no  end 
Of  song  and  masquerading. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Hope  springs  with  you :  I  dread  no  more 
Despondency  and  dulness; 
[  104  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


For  Good  Supreme  can  never  fail  ^'^  the 

That  gives  such  perfect  fulness.  *"^ 


The  life  that  floods  the  happy  fields 
With  song  and  light  and  color 

Will  shape  our  lives  to  richer  states, 
And  heap  our  measures  fuller. 

Christopher  Pearse  Cranch. 

r 

To  a  Waterfowl  * 

Whither  'midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  waj'? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide. 
Or  where  the  rocky  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean-side.'' 

There  Is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, — 

*By  courtesy  of  D.  Appleton  ^  Co.,  publishers  of  Bryan€t 
Complete  Poetical  Works. 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  the    The  desert  and  illimitable  air, — 
mng  Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere. 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone. 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy   certain 

flight, 
Tn  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

William  Cullen  Bryant, 


tl06j 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Goldfinches  On  the 

Wing 
5ometimes  goldfinches  one  by  one  will  drop  ^ 

^'rom  low-hung  branches;  little  space  they  stop,        ' 

But  sip,  and  twitter,  and  their  feathers  sleek, 

rhen  oflF  at  once,  as  in  a  wanton  freak; 

3r  perhaps,  to  show  their  black  and  golden  wings, 

J'ausing  upon  their  yellow  flutterings. 

kVere  I  in  such  a  place,  I  sure  should  pray 

Phat  naught  less  sweet  might  call  my  thoughts 

away 

rhan  the  soft  rustle  of  a  maiden's  gown 

Fanning  away  the  dandelion's  down. 

John  Keats. 

r 

The  Sandpiper 

Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 
One  little  sandpiper  and  I; 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit. 
The  scattered  driftwood,  bleached  and  dry. 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it. 
The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high. 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit, — 
One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky; 

Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  lighthouses  high. 

[107] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

On  the    Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 
fftns     J  gge  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 

As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach, — 
One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along, 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry; 

He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 

Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 

He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong; 

He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye; 

Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong. 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously? 

My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly? 

I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky; 

For  are  we  not  God's  children  both,  i 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I? 

Celia  Thaxteb. 

r 


('«! 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Eagle  ^«/^<^ 

Wing 
(Fragment) 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands ; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls ; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls; 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 

r 

Child's  Talk  in  April 
I  wish  you  were  a  pleasant  wren, 

And  I  your  small  accepted  mate; 
How  we'd  look  doAvn  on  toilsome  men! 

We'd  rise  and  go  to  bed  at  eight 

Or  it  may  be  not  quite  so  late. 

Then  you  should  see  the  nest  I'd  build. 

The  wondrous  nest  for  you  ana  me; 
The  outside  rough  perhaps,  but  filled 

With  wool  and  down ;  ah,  you  should  see 

The  cosy  nest  that  it  would  be. 

We'd  have  our  change  of  hope  and  fear. 

Some  quarrels,  reconcilements  sweet : 
I'd  perch  by  you  to  chirp  and  cheer, 

Or  hop  about  on  active  feet. 

And  fetch  you  dainty  bits  to  eat. 


GOLDEIS    NUMBERS 

On  the   We'd  be  so  happy  by  the  day, 
"^f^g         So  safe  and  happy  through  the  night, 
^        We  both  should  feel,  and  I  should  say, 
It's  all  one  season  of  delight, 
And  we'll  make  merry  whilst  we  may. 

Perhaps  some  day  there'd  be  an  q^^ 

When  spring  had  blossomed  from  the  snow: 

I'd  stand  triumphant  on  one  leg ; 
Like  chanticleer  I'd  almost  crow 
To  let  our  little  neighbours  know. 

Next  you  should  sit  and  I  would  sing 

Through  lengthening  days  of  sunny  spring ; 

Till,  if  you  wearied  of  the  task, 

I'd  sit;  and  you  should  spread  your  wing 
From  bough  to  bough;  I'd  sit  and  bask. 

I'aiicj-  cfie  breaking  of  the  shell. 

The  chirp,  the  chickens  wet  and  bare, 

The  untried  proud  paternal  swell; 
And  you  with  housewife-matron  air 
Enacting:  choicer  bills  of  fare. 


I 


*C3 


Fancy  the  embryo  coats  of  down, 

The  gradual  feathers  soft  and  sleek ; 

Till  clothed  and  strong  from  tail  to  crown j 
With  virgin  warblings  in  their  beak. 
They  too  go  forth  to  soar  and  seek, 

(110] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

So  would  It  last  an  April  through  On  the 

And  early  summer  fresh  with  dew,  Wing 

Then  should  we  part  and  live  as  twain: 
Love-time  would  bring  me  back  to  you 
And  build  our  happy  nest  again. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


The  Flight  of  the  Birds 

Whither  away,  Robin, 

Whither  away? 
Is  It  through  envy  of  the  maple-leaf, 
Whose  blushes  mock  the  crimson  of  thy  breastj, 

Thou  wilt  not  staj^? 
The  summer  days  were  long,  yet  all  too  brief 
The  happy  season  thou  hast  been  our  guest: 

Whither  away? 

Whither  away,  Bluebird, 

Whither  away? 
The  blast  is  chill,  yet  in  the  upper  sky 
Thou  still  canst  find  the  color  of  thy  wing, 

The  hue  of  May. 
Warbler,  why  speed  thy  southern  flight?  ah,  why, 
Thou  too,  whose  song  first  told  us  of  the  Spring? 

Whither  away? 

Whither  away,  Swallowj 
Whither  away? 
lU!  ^ 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

On  the    Canst  thou  no  longer  tarry  in  the  North, 
fVitig    jjere,  where  our  roof  so  well  hath  screened  thjr 

nest? 
Not  one  short  day? 
Wilt  thou — as  if  thou  human  wert — go  forth 
And  wanton  far  from  them  who  love  thee  best? 
Whither  away? 

'Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 


The  Shepherd's  Home 

My  banks  they  are  furnished  with  bees, 

Whose  murmur  invites  one  to  sleep; 
My  grottoes  are  shaded  with  trees, 

And  my  hills  are  white  over  with  sheep. 
I  seldom  have  met  with  a  loss, 

Such  health  do  my  fountains  bestow; 
My  fountains  all  bordered  with  moss. 

Where  the  harebells  and  violets  blow. 

Not  a  pine  in  the  grove  is  there  seen. 

But  with  tendrils  of  woodbine  is  bound; 
Not  a  beech's  more  beautiful  green. 

But  a  sweetbrier  entwines  It  around. 
Not  my  fields  in  the  prime  of  the  year. 

More  charms  than  my  cattle  unfold; 
Not  a  brook  that  is  limpid  and  clear, 

But  it  glitters  with  fishes  of  gold. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair,  On  the 

I  have  found  where  the  wood  pigeons  breed,        f^^ng 
But  let  me  such  plunder  forbear,  ^ 

She  will  say  'twas  a  barbarous  deed ; 
For  he  ne'er  could  be  true,  she  averred, 

Who  would  rob  a  poor  bird  of  its  young; 
And  I  loved  her  the  more  when  I  heard 

Such  tenderness  fall  from  her  tongue. 

William  Shenstone. 

To  a  Cricket 

Voice  of  Summer,  keen  and  shrill, 
Chirping  round  my  winter  fire, 
Of  thy  song  I  never  tire. 
Weary  others  as  they  will; 
For  thy  song  with  Summer's  filled — 
Filled  with  sunshine,  filled  with  June : 
Firelight  echo  of  that  noon 
Heard  in  fields  when  all  is  stilled 
In  the  golden  light  of  May, 
Bringing  scents  of  new-mown  hay, 
Bees,  and  birds,  and  flowers  away : 
Prithee,  haunt  my  fireside  still. 
Voice  of  Summer,  keen  and  shrill ! 

William  C.  Bennett, 

tusj 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  tht  On  the  Grasshopper  and  Cricket 

H'ing 
^       The  poetry  of  earth  is  never  dead: 

'  When  all  the  birds  are  faint  with  the  hot  sun, 

And  hide  in  cooling  trees,  a  voice  will  run 

From  hedge  to  hedge  about  the  new-mown 

mead; 

That  is  the  Grasshopper's — he  takes  the  lead 

In  summer  luxury, — he  has  never  done 

With  his  delights ;  for  when  tired  out  with 

fun, 

He  rests  at  ease  beneath  some  pleasant  weed. 

The  poetry  of  earth  is  ceasing  never: 

On  a  lone  winter  evening,  when  the  frost 

Has  wrought  a  silence,  from  the  stove  there 

shrills 

The  Cricket's  song,  in  warmth  increasing  ever, 

And  seems  to  one,  in  drowsiness  half  lost. 

The  Grasshopper's  among  some  grassy  hills, 

John  Keats. 


The  Tax-Gatherer 

**  And  pray,  who  are  you  ?  '* 

Said  the  violet  blue 

To  the  Bee,  with  surprise 
At  his  wonderful  size. 

In  her  eye-glass  of  dew. 
[114] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

**  I,  madam,"  quoth  he,  O71  the 

"  Am  a  pubhcan  Bee,  ^^^S 

Collecting  the  tax  •" 

Of  honey  and  wax. 
Have  you  nothing  for  me  ?  " 

John  B.  Tabb. 


To  the  Grasshopper  and  the  Cricket 

Green  little  vaulter  in  the  sunny  grass. 
Catching  your  heart  up  at  the  feel  of  June, — 
Sole  voice  that's  heard  amidst  the  lazy  noon, 
When  even  the  bees  lag  at  the  summoning  brass ; 
And  you,  warm  little  housekeeper,  who  class 
With  those  who  think  the  candles  come  too  soon, 
Loving  the  fire,  and  with  your  tricksome  tune 
Nick  the  glad  silent  moments  as  they  pass ! 
O  sweet  and  tiny  cousins,  that  belong. 
One  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  the  hearth. 
Both  have  3'^our  sunshine ;  both,  though  small,  are 

strong 
At  your  clear  hearts ;  and  both  seem  given  to 

earth 
To  sing  in  thoughtful  ears  their  natural  song, — 
In  doors  and  out,  summer  and  winter.  Mirth. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

r 

[lUJ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  the  The  Bee 

°  Like  trains  of  cars  on  tracks  of  plush 

IT  I  hear  the  level  bee : 

A  jar  across  the  flowers  goes, 
Their  velvet  masonry 

Withstands  until  the  sweet  assault 
Their  chivalry  consumes, 

While  he,  victorious,  tilts  away 
To  vanquish  other  blooms. 

His  feet  are  shod  with  gauze, 
His  helmet  is  of  gold; 

His  breast,  a  single  onyx 
With  chrysoprase,  inlaid. 

His  labor  is  a  chant. 

His  idleness  a  tune; 
Oh,  for  a  bee's  experience 

Of  clovers  and  of  noon! 

Emily  Dickinson. 

r 

The  Humble-Bee 
Burly,  dozing  humble-bee. 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek; 
I  will  follow  thee  alone, 
Thou  animated  torrid  zone! 
[116] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Zigzag  stcerer,  desert  cheerer,  On  the 

Let  me  chase  thy  wavhig  hnes;  i^tng 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer,  ^ 

Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air; 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon; 
Epicurean  of  June, — 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum, — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days^ 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall. 
And  with  softness  touching  all, 
Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  a  color  of  romance. 
And,  infusing  subtle  heats. 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods. 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone. 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
[117  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  the  Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 

'^^"S  Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers; 

^  Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 

In  Indian  wildernesses  found; 
Of  Sj'rian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple-sap  and  daffodels. 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 
Succory  to  match  the  sky. 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern,  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer. 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher ! 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet. 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff"  and  take  the  wheat; 
When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and   land  so  far  and  fast. 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep: 
[118] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us,  On  tk« 

Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous.  Wing 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  ^ 

All  Things  Wait  Upon  Thee 

Innocent  eyes  not  ours 

And  made  to  look  on  flowers. 
Eyes  of  small  birds,  and  insects  small; 

Morn  after  summer  morn 

The  sweet  rose  on  her  thom 
Opens  her  bosom  to  them  all. 

The  last   and  least  of  things, 

That  soar  on  quivering  wings, 
Or  crawl  among  the  grass  blades  out  of  sight. 

Have  just  as  clear  a  right 
To  their  appointed  portion  of  delight 

As  queens  or  kings. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti, 

r 

Providence 

Lo,  the  lilies  of  the  field. 
How  their  leaves  instruction  yield! 
Hark  to  Nature's  lesson  given 
By  the  blessed  birds  of  heaven! 
Every  bush  and  tufted  tree 
Warbles  sweet  pnilosophy: 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Oh  the  Mortal,  fly  from  doubt  and  sorrow, 

'^"^  God  provideth  for  the  morrow. 


r 


Say,  with  richer  crimson  glows 

The  kingly  mantle  than  the  rose? 

Say,  have  kings  more  wholesome  fare 

Than  we  citizens  of  air? 

Barns  nor  hoarded  grain  have  we, 

Yet  we  carol  merrily. 

Mortal,  fly  from  doubt  and  sorrow, 

God  provideth  for  the  morrow. 

One  there  lives,  whose  guardian  eye 
Guides  our  humble  destiny ; 
One  there  lives,  who,  Lord  of  all, 
Keeps  our  feathers  lest  they  fall. 
Pass  we  blithely  then  the  time, 
Fearless  of  the  snare  and  lime, 
Free  from  doubt  and  faithless  sorrow : 
God  provideth  for  the  morrow. 

Reginald  Heber. 


( 


1 


f  m 


_NTEELEAVE., 

r 

The  Inglenook 

•*  With  his  flute  of  reeds  a  stranger 
Wanders  pipiruj  through  the  village^ 
Beckons  to  the  fairest  maiden. 
And  she  follows  where  he  leads  her. 
Leaving  all  things  for  the  stranger.'''' 

he  ancient  arrowmaker  is  left  standing  lonely  at  the  door 
of  his  wigwam,  but  Laughing  Water  and  Hiawatha 
have  gone  to  make  a  new  household  among  the  myriad 
homes  of  earth. 

It  matters  not  whether  the  inglenook  he  in  wigwam  m 
cabin,  cottage  or  palace,  if  Love  Dwells  Within  be 
graven  upon  the  threshold,  for  "  where  a  true  wife 
comes,  there  home  is  always  around  her."  She  is  tht 
Domina  or  House  Lady,  and  under  the  benediction  o/ 
her  gaze  arise  sweet  order,  peace,  and  restful  charm 
The  "  gudeman,"  too;  "  his  very  foot  has  music  inh 
when  he  comes  up  the  stair,"  and  like  the  fire  on  tht 
hearth  he  diffuses  warmth  and  comfort  and  good  cheer. 
By  and  by  a  cradle  swings  to  and  fro  in  the  sheltered 
corner  of  the  fireside;  baby  feet  have  come  to  stray  on 
life's  untrodden  brink;  baby  eyes  whose  speech  make 
dumb  the  wise  smile  up  into  the  mother^s  as  she  singi 
her  lullaby: 

"  The  Queen  has  sceptre,  crown,  and  ball. 
You  are  my  sceptre,  crmcn,  and  all. 
And  it's  0 1  sweet,  sweet,  and  a  lullaby." 

The  dog  and  the  cat  snooze  peacefully  on  the  hearth^ 
the  kettle  hums,  the  kitchen  clock  ticks  drowsily.  The 
circle  of  love  widens  to  take  in  all  who  are  helping  to 
make  home  beautiful — the  farm  boy,  the  milkmaid,  and 
even  the  whinnying  mare  and  friendly  cow. 
The  poetry  of  the  inglenook  is  simple,  unpretentious, 
humble,  but  it  has  a  tender  charm  of  its  ofwn  became 
it  sings  of  a  heaven  far  on  this  side  of  the  stars: 

"  By  men  called  home." 


THE  INGLENOOK 

If        f 

r 

J   New  Household 

O  FORTUNATE,  O  happy  day, 
When  a  new  household  finds  its  plac© 
Among  the  myriad  homes  of  earth, 
Like  a  new  star  just  sprung  to  birth, 
And  rolled  on  its  harmonious  way 
Into  the  boundless  realms  of  space ! 

•  •  •  ■  • 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
From  "  The  Hanging  of  the  Crane." 


Two  Heavens 

For  there  are  two  heavens,  sweet. 

Both  made  of  love, — one,  inconceivable 
Ev'n  by  the  other,  so  divine  it  is; 
The  other,  far  on  this  side  of  the  stars, 
By  men  called  home. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


[191] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Th€  A  Song  of  Love 

■tt^lenook 

'g        Say,  what  Is  the  spell,  when  her  fledglings  are 

cheeping, 
That  lures  the  bird  home  to  her  nest? 
Or  wakes  the  tired  mother,  whose  infant  is  weep- 
ings 
To  cuddle  and  croon  it  to  rest? 

What  the  magic  that  charms  the  glad  babe  in  her 
arms. 
Till  it  cooes  with  the  voice  of  the  dove? 
'Tis  a  secret,  and  so  let  us  whisper  it  low — 
And  the  name  of  the  secret  is  Love! 
For  I  think  it  is  Love, 
For  I  feel  it  is  Love, 
For  I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  but  Love! 

Say,  whence  is  the  voice  that  when  anger  is  burn- 

ing> 
Bids  the  wliirl  of  the  tempest  to  cease? 

That  stirs   the  vexed   soul  with   an   aching — a 

yearning 

For  the  brotherly  hand-grip  of  peace? 

Whence  the  music  that  fills  all  our  being — that 

thrills 

Around  us,  beneath,  and  above? 

'Tis  a  secret:  none  knows  how  it  comes,  or  it 

goes — 

[122] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

But  the  name  of  the  secret  Is  Love!  The 

For  I  think  it  is  Love,  Inglenook 

For  I  feel  it  is  Love,  ^ 

For  I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  but  Love! 

Say,  whose  is  the  skill  that  paints  valley  and  hill, 

Like  a  picture  so  fair  to  the  sight? 
That  flecks  the  green  meadow  with  sunshine  and 
shadow. 
Till  the  little  lambs  leap  with  delight? 
*Tis  a  secret  untold  to  hearts  cruel  and  cold, 

Though  'tis  sung,  by  the  angels  above. 
In  notes  that  ring  clear  for  the  ears  that  can 
hear — 
And  the  name  of  the  secret  is  Love! 
For  I  think  it  is  Love, 
For  I  feel  it  is  Love, 
For  I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  but  Love! 

Lewis  Carroll. 

r 

Mother's  Song 

My  heart  is  like  a  fountain  true 
That  flows  and  flows  with  love  to  you. 
As  chirps  the  lark  unto  the  tree 
So  chirps  my  pretty  babe  to  me. 
And  it's  O!  sweet,  sweet!  and  a  lullaby. 

There's  not  a  rose  where'er  I  seek, 
As  comely  as  my  baby's  cheek. 
[123] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  There's  not  a  comb  of  honey-bee, 

Inglenook       g^  f^^  ^f  g^ggts  as  babe  to  me. 

S*  And  it's  O !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

There's  not  a  star  that  shines  on  high, 
Is  brighter  than  my  baby's  eye. 
There's  not  a  boat  upon  the  sea, 
Can  dance  as  baby  does  to  me. 
And  it's  O!  sweet,  sweet!  and  a  lullaby. 

No  silk  was  ever  spun  so  fine 
As  is  the  hair  of  baby  mine — 
My  baby  smells  more  sweet  to  me 
Than  smells  in  spring  the  elder  tree. 
And  it's  O !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

A  little  fish  swims  in  the  well, 

So  in  my  heart  does  baby  dwell. 

A  little  flower  blows  on  the  tree. 

My  baby  is  the  flower  to  me. 

And  it's  O!  sweet,  sweet!  and  a  lullaby. 

The  Queen  has  sceptre,  crown  and  ball, 
You  are  my  sceptre,  crown  and  all. 
For  all  her  robes  of  royal  silk, 
More  fair  your  skin,  as  white  as  milk. 
And  it's  O !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

Ten  thousand  parks  where  deer  run, 
Ten  thousand  roses  in  the  sun. 

[124  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Ten  thousand  pearls  benearh  the  sea,  The 

My  baby  more  precious  is  to  me.  Inglenook 

And  it's  O!  sweet,  sweet!  and  a  lullaby.  ^ 
West  of  England  Lullaby. 


The  Bonniest  Bairn  in  a'  the  WarV 

The  bonniest  bairn  in  a'  the  warP 

Has  skin  like  the  drifted  snaw. 
An'  rosy  wee  cheeks  sae  saft  an'  sleek — 

There  never  was  ither  sic  twa; 
Its  een  are  just  bonnie  wee  wander'd  stars, 

Its  leggies  are  plump  like  a  farl, 
An'  ilk  ane  maun  see't,  an'  a'  maun  declare't 

The  cleverest  baira. 

The  daintiest  bairn, 

The  rosiest,  cosiest,  cantiest  bairn, 
The  dearest,  queerest, 
Rarest,  fairest. 

Bonniest  bairn  in  a'  the  warl'. 

The  bonniest  bairn  in  a'  the  warl' 

Ye  ken  whaur  the  ferlie  lives? 
It's  doon  in  yon  howe,  it's  owre  yon  knowe — ■ 

In  the  laps  o'  a  thousand  wives ; 
It's  up  an'  ayont  in  yon  castle  brent. 

The  heir  o'  the  belted  earl ; 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  It's  sookin    its  thoonib  in  yon  gipsy  tent — 

higlenook  rpj^^  cleverest  bairn, 

Tlie  daintiest  bairn, 

The  rosiest,  cosiest,  cantiest  bairn, 
The  dearest,  queerest, 
Rarest,  fairest. 

Bonniest  bairn  in  a'  the  warl'. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Robert  Ford. 

r 

Cuddle  Doon 

The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht, 

Wi'  muckle  faucht  an'  din; 
Oh,  try  an'  sleep,  j^e  waukrife  rogues, 

Your  father's  comin'  in. 
They  never  heed  a  word  I  speak ; 

I  try  to  gi'e  a  froon. 
But  aye  I  hap  them  up,  an'  cry, 

"  O,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon." 

Wee  Jamie  wi'  the  curly  heid — 

He  aye  sleeps  neist  the  wa', 
Bangs  up  an'  cries,  "  I  want  a  piece  " ; 

The  rascal  starts  them  a'. 
I  rin  an'  fetch  them  pieces,  drinks. 

They  stop  awee  the  soun' ; 
Then  draw  the  blankets  up  and  cry, 

"  Noo,  weanies,  cuddle  doon." 
[126] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

But  ere  five  minutes  gang,  wee  Rab  The 

Cries  oot  frae  'neath  the  claes,  Inglenook 

"  Mither,  mak'  Tarn  gie  ower  at  ance —  ^ 

He's  kittlin'  wi'  his  taes." 
The  mischief's  in  that  Tarn  for  tricks. 

He'd  bother  half  the  toon: 
But  aye  I  hap  them  up  an'  cry, 

"  O,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon." 

At  length  they  hear  their  father's  fit, 

An',  as  he  steeks  the  door, 
They  turn  their  faces  to  the  wa'. 

While  Tarn  pretends  to  snore. 
"  Hae  a'  the  weans  been  gude?  "  he  asks, 

As  he  pits  aff  his  shoon ; 
"  The  bairnies,  John,  are  in  their  beds, 

An'  lang  since  Cuddled  doon." 

An'  just  afore  we  bed  oorsel's. 

We  look  at  oor  wee  lambs ; 
Tam  has  his  airm  roun'  wee  Rab's  neck. 

An'  Rab  his  airm  roun'  Tam's. 
I  lift  wee  Jamie  up  the  bed. 

An',  as  I  straik  each  croon, 
I  whisper,  till  my  heart  fills  up, 

"  O,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon." 

The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht, 
Wi'  mirth  that's  dear  to  me ; 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  But  sune  the  big  warl's  cark  an'  care 

Inglenook  V^'iW  quaten  doon  their  glee. 

^  Yet  come  what  will  to  ilka  ane, 

May  He  who  sits  aboon 
Aye  whisper,  though  their  pows  be  bauld, 
"  O,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon." 

Alexander  Anderson. 


I  Am  Lonely 
The  world  is  great:  the  birds  all  fly  from  me,, 
The  stars  are  golden  fruit  upon  a  tree 
All  out  of  reach:  my  little  sister  went, 

And  I  am  lonely. 

The  world  is  great:  I  tried  to  mount  the  hill 
Above  the  pines,  where  the  light  lies  so  still. 
But  it  rose  higher:  little  Lisa  went 

And  I  am  lonely. 

The  world  is  great:  the  wind  comes  rushing  by 
I  wonder  where  it  comes  from ;  sea  birds  cry 
And  hurt  my  heart :  my  little  sister  went, 

And  I  am  lonely. 

The  world  is  great :  the  people  laugh  and  talk. 
And  make  loud  holiday :  how  fast  they  walk ! 
I'm  lame,  they  push  me:  little  Lisa  went, 

And  I  am  lonely. 

George  Eliot. 
From  "  The  iSpanish  Gypsy.'* 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Brother  and  Sister 


The 

Inglenook 


But  were  another  childhood-world  my  share,  2? 

I  would  be  born  a  little  sister  there. 


I  cannot  choose  but  think  upon  the  time 
When  our  two  lives  grew  like  two  buds  that  kiss 
At  lightest  thrill  from  the  bee's  swinging  chime, 
Because  the  one  so  near  the  other  is. 

He  was  the  elder  and  a  little  man 
Of  forty  inches,  bound  to  show  no  dread, 
And  I  the  girl  that  puppy-like  now  ran, 
Now  lagged  behind  my  brother's  larger  tread. 

I  held  him  wise,  and  when  he  talked  to  me 

Of  snakes  and  birds,  and  which  God  loved  the 

best, 
I  thought  his  knowledge  marked  the  boundary 
Where  men  grew  blind,  though  angels  knew  the 

rest. 

If  he  said  "  Husli !  "  I  tried  to  hold  my  breath ; 
Wherever  he  said  "  Come !  "  I  stepped  in  faith. 

II 

Long  years  have  left  their  writing  on  my  brow, 
But  yet  the  freshness  and  the  dew-fed  beam 
Of  those  young  mornings  are  about  me  now. 
When  we  two  wandered  toward  the  far-off  stream 

[129] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      With  rod  and  line.     Our  basket  held  a  store 
/«g/e«ooA:  gg^]^gjj  for  us  only,  and  I  thought  with  joy 
^       That  I  should  have  my  share,  though  he  had 
more, 
Because  he  was  the  elder  and  a  boy. 

The  firmaments  of  daisies  since  to  me 
Have  had  those  mornings  in  their  opening  eyes, 
The  bunched  cowslip's  pale  transparency 
Carries  that  sunshine  of  sweet  memories. 

And  wild-rose  branches  take  their  finest  scent 
From  those  blest  hours  of  infantine  content. 

Ill 

Our  mother  bade  us  keep  the  trodden  ways. 
Stroked  down  my  tippet,  set  my  brother's  frill, 
Then  with  the  benediction  of  her  gaze 
Clung  to  us  lessening,  and  pursued  us  still 

Across  the  homestead  to  the  rookery  elms, 
Whose  tall  old  trunks  had  each  a  grassy  mound, 
So  rich  for  us,  we  counted  them  as  realms 
With    varied    products:    here    were    earth-nuts 
found, 

And  here  the  Lady-fingers  in  deep  shade; 
Here  sloping  toward  the  Moat  the  rushes  grew, 
The  large  to  split  for  pith,  the  small  to  braid ; 
While  over  all  the  dark  rooks  cawing  flew, 

[130] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  made  a  happy  strange  solemnity,  The 

A  deep-toned  chant  from  life  unknown  to  me.      inglenook 


^ 


IX 

We  had  the  selfsame  world  enlarged  for  each 
By  loving  difference  of  girl  and  boy: 
The  fruit  that  hung  on  high  beyond  my  reach 
He  plucked  for  me,  and  oft  he  must  employ 

A  measuring  glance  to  guide  my  tiny  shoe 
Where  lay  fimi  stepping-stones,  or  call  to  mind 
"  This  thing  I  like  my  sister  may  not  do. 
For  she  is  little,  and  I  must  be  kind." 

Thus  boyish  Will  the  nobler  mastery  learned 
W^here  inward  vision  over  impulse  reigns. 
Widening  its  life  with  separate  life  discerned, 
A  Like  unlike,  a  Self  that  self  restrains. 

His  years  with  others  must  the  sweeter  be 
For  those  brief  days  he  spent  in  loving  me. 

•  •  •  •  • 

George  Eliot. 


Home 

0  Falmouth  is  a  fine  town  with  ships  in  the  bay, 
And  I  wish  from  my  heart  it's  there  I  was  to-day ; 

1  wish  from  my  heart  I  was  far  away  from  here. 
Sitting  in  my  parlour  and  talking  to  my  dear. 

[  131  J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  For  it's  home,  dearie,  home — it's  home  I  want 

Inglenook  ^o  be. 

S^  Our  topsails  are  hoisted,  and  we'll  away  to  sea. 

O  the  oak  and  the  ash  and  the  bonnie  birken 

tree 
They're  all  growing  green  in  the  old  countree. 

In  Baltimore  a-walking  a  lady  I  did  meet 

With  her  babe  on  her  arm  as  she  came  down  the 
street ; 

And  I  thought  how  I  sailed,  and  the  cradle  stand- 
ing ready 

For  the  pretty  little  babe  that  has  never  seen  its 
daddie. 
And  it's  home,  dearie,  home, — 

O,  if  it  be  a  lass,  she  shall  wear  a  golden  ring ; 
And  if  it  be  a  lad,  he  shall  fight  for  his  king ; 
With  his  dirk  and  his  hat  and  his  little  j  acket  blue 
He  shall  walk  the  quarter-deck  as  his  daddie  used 
to  do. 
And  it's  home,  dearie,  home, — 

O,  there's  a  wind  a-blowing,  a-blowing  from  the 

west. 
And  that  of  all  the  winds  is  the  one  I  like  the  best, 
For  it  blows  at  our  backs,  and  it  shakes  our 

pennon  free. 
And  it  soon  will  blow  us  home  to  the  old  countree. 

[132] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  it's  home,  dearie,  home — it's  home  I  want      The 
to  be.  Inglenooh 

Our  topsails  are  hoisted,  and  we'll  away  to  sea. 

O  the  oak  and  the  ash  and  the  bonnie  birken 
tree 

They're  all  growing  green  in  the  old  countree. 
William  Ernest  Henley. 


Love  Will  Find  Out  the  Way 

Over  the  mountains 

And  over  the  waves, 
Under  the  fountains 

And  under  the  graves ; 
Under   floods   that   are   deepest, 

Which  Neptune  obey, 
Over  rocks  that  are  steepest, 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Where  there  is  no  place 
For  the  glow-worm  to  lie. 

Where  there  is  no  space 
For  receipt  of  a  fly ; 

Where  the  midge  dares  not  venture 
Lest  herself  fast  she  lay, 

If  Love  come,  he  will  enter 

And  will  find  out  the  way. 
•  •  .  .  « 

Old  English. 
1133] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  The  Sailor's  Wife 

[nglenook  ,  •  «. 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  truer 

▼  And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel? 

Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark? 

Ye  jades,  lay  by  your  wheel; 
Is  this  the  time  to  spin  a  thread; 

When  Colin's  at  the  door? 
Reach  down  my  cloak,  I'll  to  the  quay. 

And  see  him  come  ashore. 
For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house^ 

There's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 

When  our  gudeman's  awa. 

And  gie  to  me  my  bigonet, 

My  bishop's  satin  gown; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  baillie's  wife 

That  Colin's  in  the  town. 
My  Turkey  slippers  maun  gae  on, 

My  stockins  pearly  blue; 
It's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman. 

For  he's  baith  leal  and  true. 

Rise,  lass,  and  mak  a  clean  fireside, 
Put  on  the  muckle  pot; 

Gie  little  Kate  her  button  gown 
And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat; 

And  mak  their  shoon  as  black  as  slae% 
Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw; 
[134] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

It's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman,  The 

For  he's  been  long  awa.  Inglenook 


There's  twa  fat  hens  upo'  the  coop 

Been  fed  this  month  and  mair; 
Male  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weel  may  fare; 
And  spread  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw, 
For  wha  can  tell  how  Colin  fared 

When  he  was  far  awa? 

Sae  true  his  heart,  sae  smooth  his  speech, 

His  breath  like  caller  air; 
His  very  foot  has  music  in't 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair. 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I'm  like  to  greet! 

If  Colin's  weel,  and  weel  content, 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave; 
And  gin  I  live  to  keep  him  sae, 

I'm  blest  aboon  the  lave: 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I'm  like  to  greet. 
[m] 


f 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

Inglenook  There's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 

^  There's  little  pleasure   In  the   house 

When  our  gudeman's  awa. 

William  J.  Mickle, 


Evening  at  the  Farm 

Over  the  hill  the  farm-boy  goes. 

His  shadow  lengthens  along  the  land, 
A  giant  staff  in  a  giant  hand ; 
In  the  poplar-tree,  above  the  spring, 
The  katydid  begins  to  sing ; 

The  early  dews  are  falling; — 
Into  the  stone-heap  darts  the  mink ; 
The  swallows  skim  the  river's  brink ; 
And  home  to  the  woodland  fly  the  crows, 
When  over  the  hill  the  farm-boy  goes. 
Cheerily  calling, 

"  Co',  boss !  co',  boss !  co' !  co' !  co' !  " 
Farther,  farther,  over  the  hill. 
Faintly  calling,  calling  still, 

"  Co',  boss !  co',  boss !  co' !  co' !  " 

Into  the  yard  the  farmer  goes. 
With  grateful  heart,  at  the  close  of  days 
Harness  and  chain  are  hung  away; 

[  130  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  the  wagon-shed  stand  yoke  and  plough,  The 

The  straw's  in  the  stack,  the  hay  in  the  mow,     Inglt^nook 

The  coohng  dews  are  falHng; —  ST 

The  friendly  sheep  his  welcome  bleat, 
The  pigs  come  grunting  to  his  feet, 
And  the  whinnying  mare  her  master  knows, 
When  into  the  yard  the  farmer  goes. 
His  cattle  calling, — 

"  Co',  boss !  co',  boss !  co' !  co' !  co' !  " 
While  still  the  cow-boy,  far  away. 
Goes  seekinp-  those  that  have  gone  astray, — 

"  Co',  boss !    co',  boss !    co' !    co' !  " 

Now  to  her  task  the  milkmaid  goes. 

The  cattle  come  crowding  through  the  gate, 

Lowing,  pushing,  little  and  great; 

About  the  trough,  by  the  farm-yard  pump. 

The  frolicsome  yearlings  frisk  and  jump. 

While  the  pleasant  dews  are  falling ; — 
The  new  milch  heifer  is  quick  and  shy, 
But  the  old  cow  waits  with  tranquil  eye. 
And  the  white  stream  into  the  bright  pail  flowsj 
When  to  her  task  the  milkmaid  goes, 
Soothingly  callinq-, 

"  So,  boss !  so,  boss !  so !  so !  so !  " 
The  cheerful  milkmaid  takes  her  stool, 
And  sits  and  milks  in  the  twilight  cooL. 

Saying  "  So !  so,  boss !  so !  so !  " 

[  137  3 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      To  supper  at  last  the  farmer  goes. 
Inglenook  rj^)^^  apples  are  pared,  the  paper  read, 
^       The  stories  are  told,  then  all  to  bed. 
Without,  the  crickets'  ceaseless  song 
Makes  shrill  the  silence  all  night  long; 

The  heavy  dews  are  falling. 
The  housewife's  hand  has  turned  the  lock; 
Drowsily  ticks  the  kitchen  clock; 
The  household  sinks  to  deep  repose, 
But  still  in  sleep  the  farm-boy  goes 
Singing,  calling, — 
"  Co',  boss !  co',  boss  !  co' !  co' !  co' !  " 
And  oft  the  milkmaid,  in  her  dreams. 
Drums  in  the  pail  with  the  flashing  streams. 
Murmuring  "  So,  boss  !  so !  " 

John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 

r 

Home  Song 

Stay,  stay  at  home,  my  heart,  and  rest; 

Home-keeping  hearts  are  happiest. 

For  those  that  wander  they  know  not  where 
Are  full  of  trouble  and  full  of  care, 

To  stay  at  home  is  best. 

Weary  and  homesick  and  distressed, 
They  wander  east,  they  wander  west, 

[138] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  are  baffled,  and  beaten  and  blown  about       The 
By  the  winds  of  the  wilderness  of  doubt ;       Inglenook 
To  stay  at  home  is  best.  ^ 

Then  stay  at  home,  my  heart,  and  rest; 
The  bird  is  safest  in  its  nest: 

O'er  all  that  flutter  their  wings  and  fly 

A  hawk  is  hovering  in  the  sky; 
To  stay  at  home  is  best. 

Hexry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 

Etude  Realiste 

I 

A  baby's  feet,  like  seashells  pink, 

Might  tempt,  should  heaven  see  meet, 
An  angel's  lips  to  kiss,  we  think, — 
A  baby's  feet. 

Like  rose-hued  sea-flowers  toward  the  heat 

They  stretch  and  spread  and  wink 
Their  ten  soft  buds  that  part  and  meet. 

No  flower-bells  that  expand  and  shrink 

Gleam  half  so  heavenly  sweet. 
As  shine  on  life's  untrodden  brink, — 
A  baby's  feet. 

[  139  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

fnslenook 


The  II 


A  baby's  hands,  like  rosebuds  furled, 

Where  yet  no  leaf  expands. 
Ope  if  you  touch,  though  close  upcurled, — 
A  baby's  hands. 

Then,  even  as  warriors  grip  their  brands 

When  battle's  bolt  is  hurled, 
They  close,  clenched  hard  like  tightening  bands. 

No  rose-buds  yet  by  dawn  impearled 

Match,  even  in  loveliest  lands, 
The  sweetest  flowers  in  all  the  world, — 
A  baby's  hands. 

Ill 

A  baby's  eyes,  ere  speech  begin, 
Ere  lips  learn  words  or  sighs. 
Bless  all  things  bright  enough  to  win 
A  baby's  eyes. 

Love  while  the  sweet  thing  laughs  and  lies, 

And  sleep  flows  out  and  in, 
Sees  perfect  in  them  Paradise ! 

Their  glance  might  cast  out  pain  and  sin, 

Their  speech  make  dumb  the  wise, 
Sy  mute  glad  godhead  felt  within 
A  baby's  eyes. 
Algernon  Charles  Swinbuene. 
I  140] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

We  Are  Seven  The 

Inglcnook 
• A  simple  child, 

That  lightly  draws  its  breath,  • 

And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 

What  should  it  know  of  death? 

I  met  a  little  cottage  girl : 
She  was  eight  years  old,  she  said; 
Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  curl 
That  clustered  round  her  head. 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  air. 
And  she  was  wildly  clad : 
Her  eyes  were  fair,  and  very  fair; — 
Her  beaut}^  made  me  glad. 

"  Sisters  and  brothers,  little  Maid, 
How  many  may  you  be?  " 
"  How  many?     Seven  in  all,"  she  said. 
And  wondering  looked  at  me. 

"  And  where  are  they?     I  pray  you  tell." 
She  answered,  "  Seven  are  v.e; 
And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell, 
And  two  are  gone  to  sea. 

"  Two  of  us  In  the  churchyard  lie. 
My  sister  and  my  brother; 
And,  in  the  churchyard  cottage,  I 
Dwell  near  tlicm  with  irsy  mother  " 

[u\] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  "  You  say  that  two  at  Conway  dwell, 

tnglenook      ^^^  |-^,q  ^j.^  gone  to  sea, 

^  Yet  ye  are  seven!    I  pray  you  tell, 

Sweet  Maid,  how  this  may  be." 

Then  did  the  little  maid  reply, 
"  Seven  boys  and  girls  are  we ; 
Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie, 
Beneath  the  churchyard  tree." 

"  You  run  about,  my  little  Maid, 
Your  limbs  they  are  alive; 
If  two  are  in  the  churchyard  laid 
Then  ye  are  only  five. 


?5 


"  Their  graves  are  green,  they  may  be  seen," 

The  little  Maid  replied, 

"  Twelve   steps   or  more   from   my   mother's 

door, 
And  they  are  side  by  side. 

"  My  stockings  there  I  often  knit. 
My  kerchief  there  I  hem; 
And  there  upon  the  ground  I  sit 
And  sing  a  song  to  them. 

"  And  often  after  sunset.  Sir, 
When  it  is  light  and  fair, 
I  take  my  little  porringer 
And  eat  my  supper  there. 

[1431 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

**  The  first  that  died  was  sister  Jane ;  The 

In  bed  she  moaning  lay,  Inglenook 
Till  God  released  her  of  her  pain ;  ^ 

And  then  she  went  away. 

**  So  in  the  churchyard  she  was  laid ; 
And,  when  the  grass  was  dry. 
Together  round  her  grave  we  played, 
My  brother  John  and  I. 

"  And  when  the  ground  was  white  with  snow 

And  I  could  run  and  slide. 

My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go, 

And  he  lies  by  her  side." 

"  How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 
"  If  they  two  are  in  heaven  ?  " 
Quick  was  the  little  Maid's  reply, 
"  O  Master !    we  are  seven." 

"  But  they  are  dead;  those  two  are  dead! 
Their  spirits  are  in  heaven !  " 
'Twas  throwing  words  away :  for  still 
The  little  Maid  would  have  her  will, 
And  said,  "  Nay,  we  are  seven !  '* 

William  Wordsworth. 


[143] 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

Fairy  Songs  and  Songs  of  Fancy 

Most  of  these  songs  come  to  you  from  the  masters  of 
English  poctrtf.  Nations,  like  individuals,  have  their 
"  play-spells,"  and  Shakespeare,  Drayton,  and  "  rare 
Ben  Jonson  "  belong  to  that  "wonderfid  age  of  Eliza- 
beth when  more  than  ten  score  of  poets  were  making 
England  a  veritable  nest  of  singing-birds. 
Dowden  says  of  the  exquisite  songs  scattered  through 
Shakespeare's  plays,  that  if  they  do  not  make  their  own 
way,  like  the  notes  in  the  wildwood,  no  words  will  open 
the  dull  ear  to  take  them  in.  Of  Drayton  we  give  you 
here  "  The  Arming  of  Pigzoiggen,"  from  "  Nymphidia," 
and  later  on  "  The  Battle  of  Agincourt,"  called,  re- 
spectively, tJie  best  fantastic  poem  and  the  best  war 
poem  in  the  language. 

Then  comes  Milton  the  sublime;  Milton  set  apart  among 
poets;  so  that  the  adjective  Miltonic  has  come  to  be  a 
synonym  for  gravity,  loftiness,  and  majesty.  After 
Milton,  Dryden,  often  called  the  greatest  poet  of  a  lit- 
tle age;  but  if  he  lacked  the  true  sublimity  he  reverenced 
in  the  great  Puritan,  he  was  still  the  first,  and  perhaps 
the  greatest,  master  of  satirical  poetry.  Then,  more 
than  half  a  century  afterward,  comes  Coleridge  with 
his  dreamy  grace  and  his  toiich  of  the  supernatural; 
his  marvellous  poetic  gift,  of  sudden  blossoming  and 
sad  and  premature  decay.  Contemporary  with  Cole- 
ridge was  Shelley,  the  master  singer  of  his  time,  pour- 
ing out,  like  his  own  skylark,  "  his  fidl  heart  in  profuse 
strains  of  unpremeditated  art." 

When  these  two  voices  were  hushed  the  Victorian  era 
teas  dawning  and  the  laurel  worn  by  Wordsworth  was 
placed  on  the  brow  of  a  poet  who,  by  his  perfect  grace 
of  manner,  melody  of  rhythm,  finished  skill,  clear  in- 
sight, and  nobility  of  thought,  gave  his  nmne  to  the 
^^nnysonian  age. 


VI 

FAIRY  SONGS    AND    SONGS   OF 

FANCY 

r 

FAIRY   LAND 


Puck  and  the  Fairy 

Puck.  How  now,  spirit!  whither  wander  you? 
Fairy.   Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier, 
Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  everywhere. 
Swifter  than  the  moone's  sphere; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen. 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green; 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be; 
In  their  gold  coats,  spots  you  see ; 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favors. 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savors ; 
I  must  go  seek  some  dewdrops  here. 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 
Farewell,  thou  lob  of  spirits;  I'll  be  gone: 
Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon 
From  "  Midsummer-Nighfs  Dream." 

r  145  1 


Sofigs  q^ 
Fa7icy 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

If 

Lullaby  for  Titania 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue, 
Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen; 

Newts  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wTong; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen. 

Philomel,  with  melody, 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby ! 
Never  harm, 
Nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh; 
So,  good-night,  with  lullaby. 

Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here ; 

Hence,  you  long-legg'd  spinners,  hence! 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near; 

Worm  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

Philomel,  with  melody. 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby! 
Never  harm, 
Nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh ; 
So,  good-night,  with  lullaby. 

From  "  Midsumnier-Nighfs  Dream,* 

I  146  j 


»» 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

III  Sofigs  of 

Faticij 
Oberon  and  Titania  to  the  Fairy  Train  to, 

Obcron. 

Through  the  house  give  glimmering  light. 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire ; 
Every  elf  and  fairy  sprite. 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier; 
And  this  ditty  after  me 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
Titania. 

First,  rehearse  your  song  by  rote, 
To  each  word  a  warbling  note: 
Hand  in  hand  with  fairy  grace 
Will  we  sing  and  bless  this  place. 
From  "  Midsummer-Nigh fs  Dream." 

William  Shakespeaee. 

IV 

ArieVs  Songs 

I 

Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands: 
Court'sied  when  you  have  and  kiss'd, 

(The  wild  waves  Mhist) 
[H7] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Fairy  Foot  it  featly  here  and  there; 

•^"  And  sweet  Sprites,  the  burthen  bear. 

Hark,  hark! 
Bow,  wow, 
The  watch-dog's  bark: 

Bow,  wow, 
Hark,  hark !  I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticleer 
Cry,  Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 

II 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I: 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie ; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly. 

After  summer  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now. 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough! 

Ill 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies; 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes: 
Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell: 
Ding-dong. 
[148] 


GOLDEN   NTIMBi^RS 

Hark !  now  I  hear  them —  Fairy 

Ding-dong,  bell!  ^'^d- 

William  Shakespeake.  2p 
From  "  The  Tempests 

r 

Orpheus  With  His  Lute 

Orpheus  with  his  lute  made  trees, 
And  the  mountain  tops  that  freeze, 

Bow  themselves  when  he  did  sing: 
To  his  music,  plants  and  flowers 
Ever  sprung ;  as  sun  and  showers 

There  had  made  a  lasting  spring. 

Every  thing  that  heard  him  play, 
Even  the  billows  of  the  sea, 

Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  music  is  such  art, 
Killing  care  and  grief  of  heart 
Fall  asleep  or  hearing,  die. 

William  Shakespeare. 
From  "  King  Henry  VIIi:' 

9 

The  Arming  of  Pigwiggen 

(He)  quickly  arms  him  for  the  field, 
'     A  little  cockle-shell  his   shield. 

Which  he  could  very  bravely  wield, 
Yet  could  it  not  be  piersed : 
[149] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Fairi)  His  spear  a  bent  both  stiff  and  strong. 

iMiid  ^jjjj  ^gii  near  of  two  inches  long; 

^  The  pile  was  of  a  horsefly's  tongue, 

Whose  sharpness  naught  reversed. 

And  put  him  on  a  coat  of  mail, 

Which  was  of  a  fish's  scale, 

That  when  his  foe  should  him  assail, 

No  point  should  be  prevailing. 
His  rapier  was  a  hornet's  sting, 
It  was  a  very  dangerous  thing; 
For  if  he  chanc'd  to  hurt  the  king. 

It  would  be  long  in  healing. 

His  helmet  was  a  beetle's  head. 
Most  horrible  and  full  of  dread, 
That  able  was  to  strike  one  dead, 

Yet  it  did  well  become  him: 
And  for  a  plume  a  horse's  hair. 
Which  being  tossed  by  the  air. 
Had  force  to  strike  his  foe  with  fear, 

And  turn  his  weapon  from  him. 

Himself  he  on  an  earwig  set. 
Yet  scarce  he  on  his  back  could  get. 
So  oft  and  high  he  did  curvet 
Ere  he  himself  could  settle: 
He  made  him  turn,  and  stop,  and  bound, 
To  gallop,  and  to  trot  the  round, 
[150j 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

He  scarce  could  stand  on  any  ground,  Fairy 

He  was  so  full  of  mettle.  ^^"^"■ 

Michael  Dhayton.  ^ 
From  "  Nymphidia." 


Hesperus*  Song 

Queen  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep, 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chair, 
State  in  wonted  manner  keep. 
Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 
Goddess,  excellently  bright. 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose; 

Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear,  when  day  did  close ; 
Bless  us  then  with  wished  sight, 
Goddess,  excellently  bright. 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart, 
And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver; 
Give  unto  the  flying  hart 
Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever: 
Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night. 
Goddess,  excellently  bright. 

Ben  Jonson. 
From  "  Cynthia's  Revels." 

[151] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Songs  uf  L' Allegro 

Fmicy 

(Extracts) 


r 


Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips,  and   Cranks,  and  wanton  Wiles, 
Nods,  and  Becks,  and  Wreathed  Smiles. 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek ; 
Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his   sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe. 
And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
The   Mountain   Nymph,   sweet   Liberty ; 
And  if  I  give  thee  honor  due. 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew. 
To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreproved  pleasures  free; 
To  hear  the  Lark  begin  his  flight. 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  night, 
From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies. 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise; 
Then  to  come  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  AvindoAv  bid  good-morrow. 
Through  the  Sweet-Briar,  or  the  Vine, 
Or  the  twisted  Eglantine: 

[152] 


GOLDEN    NITjMBERS 

While  the  Cock  with  lively  din  Sungs  of 

Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin,  rancif 

And  to  the  stack,  or  the  Barn-door,  <f 

Stoutly  struts  his  Dames  before: 

Oft  listening  liow  the  Hounds  and  horn 

Cheerly  rouse  the  slunib'ring  morn, 

From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 

Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill : 

Some  time  walking  not  unseen 

By  Hedgerow  Elms,  on  Hillocks  green, 

Right  against  the  Eastern  gate, 

Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state, 

Robctl  in  flames  and  Amber  light. 

The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight. 

While  the  Plowman  near  at  hand 

Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 

And  the  Milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 

And  the  Mower  whets  his  scythe. 

And  every  Shepherd  tells  his  tale 

Under  the  Hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures 

Whilst  the  landskip  round  it  measures, 

Russet  Lawns,  and  Fallows  gray. 

Where  the  nibbling  flock  do  stray, 

Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 

The  laboring  clouds  do  often  rest, 

Meadows  trim  with  Daisies  pied. 

Shallow  Brooks,  and  Rivers  wide. 

[153] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sontrti  of      Towers  and  Battlements  it  sees 
Fancy         Bosomed  high  in  tufted  Trees, 
If  Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies, 

The  Cynosure  of  neighboring  eyes. 
Hard  by,  a  Cottage  chimney  smokes,  • 
From  betwixt  two  aged  Oaks, 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  met, 
Are  at  their  savory  dinner  set 
Of  Herbs,  and  other  Country  Messes, 
Which  the  neat-handed  PhiUis  dresses; 
And  then  in  haste  her  Bower  she  leaves 
With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  Sheaves; 
Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead. 
To  the  tanned  Haycock  in  the  Mead. 
Sometimes  with  secure  delight 
The  upland  Hamlets  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  Bells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 
To  many  a  youth,  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  Checkered  shade; 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  Sunshine  Holy-day 
Till  the  livelong   daylight   fail; 
Then  to  the  Spicy  Nut-brown  Ale, 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat. 
How  Fairy  Mab  the  junkets  eat. 
She  was  pinched,  and  pulled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  Friars'  L  author n  led, 

[154] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tells  how  the  drudging  Goblin  sweat.  Songs  of 

To  earn  his  Cream-bowl  duly  set,  (tncy 

When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn,  ^ 

His  sliadowy  Flail  hath  threshed  the  Corn, 

That  ten  day-laborers  could  not  end; 

Then  lies  him  down  the  Lubbar  Fiend, 

And  stretched  out  all  the  Chimney's  length, 

Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength, 

And  Crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings. 

Ere  the  first  Cock  his  Matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  Tales,  to  bed  they  creep 

By  whispering  Winds  soon  lulled  asleep. 

Towered  Cities  please  us  then. 

And  the  busy  hum  of  men. 

Where  throngs  of  Knights  and  Barons  bold 

In  weeds  of  Peace  high  triumphs  hold, 

With  store  of  liadies,  whose  bright  eyes 

Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 

Of  Wit,  or  Arms,  while  both  contend 

To  win  her  Grace,  whom  all  commend. 

There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 

In  Saffron  robe,  with  Taper  clear. 

And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 

With  mask,  and  antique  Pageantry; 

Such  sights  as  youthful  Poets  dream 

On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream. 

Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon. 

If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of      Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  fancy's  child, 
Fancjf         Warble  his  native  Wood-notes  wild. 
And  ever  against  eating  Cares, 
Lap  nie  in  soft  Lydian  airs, 
Married  to  immortal  verse, 
Such  as  tlie  meeting  soul  may  pierce 
In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out. 
With  wanton  heed,  and  giddy  cunning, 
The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running. 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony ; 
That  Orpheus'  self  ma}^  heave  his  head 
From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 
Of  heaped  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 
Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 
His  half-regained  Eurydice. 
These  delights,  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mir^h-  with  thee  I  me}?n  to  live. 

John  Milton. 


1 156 1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sabrina  Fair  Songs  of 

The  Spirit  sings: 
Sabrina  fair, 

Listen  where  thou  art  sitting 
Under  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave, 

In  twisted  braids  of  lilies  knitting 
The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair; 

Listen  for  dear  honor's  sake. 

Goddess  of  the  silver  lake. 
Listen,  and  save! 
Listen,  and  appear  to  us. 
In  name  of  great  Oceanus; 

•  *  •  •  • 

By  all  the  Nymphs  that  Nightly  dance 
Upon  thy  streams  with  wily  glance, 
Rise,  rise,  and  heave  thy  rosy  head 
From  thy  coral-pa ven  bed. 
And  bridle  in  thy  headlong  wave. 
Till  thou  our  summons  answered  have. 
Listen,  and  save. 
[Sabrina  rises,  attended  by  water-nymphs,  and 
sings.] 

By  the  rushy-fringed  bank, 
Where  grows  the  Willow  and  the  Osier  dank. 

My  sliding  Chariot  stays. 
Thick  set  with  agate,  and  the  azure  sheen 
Of  turkis  blue,  and  emerald  green, 

That  in  the  channel  strays; 
{U3\ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of  Whilst  from  off  the  waters  fleet 

j-ancy  Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet 

f  O'er  the  Cowslip's  Velvet  head, 

That  bends  not  as  I  tread ; 
Gentle  swain,  at  thy  request 
I  am  here. 

John  Milton. 
From  "  Comus.** 


Alexander's  Feast 

'Twas  at  the  royal  feast,  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son : 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne: 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around; 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound; 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned.) 
The  lovely  Thais,  by  his  side. 
Sate  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride 
Jn  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy;  happy  pair! 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  orave  deserves  the  fair. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Chorus,  Songs  oj 

Fancn 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair! 

None  hut  th€  brave,  ▼ 

None  but  the  brave. 

None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair, 

Timotheus,  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire, 
With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre: 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 
And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove, 
Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above, 
(Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love.) 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god: 
Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode. 
The  listening   crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound, 
A  present  deity,  they  shout  around; 
A  present  deity,  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound: 
With  ravish' d  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god, 
Affects  to  nod. 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spherei. 

Chorus. 

With  ravished  ears 
The  monarch  hears^ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of  Assumes  the  god. 

Fancy  Affects  to  nod, 

9*  And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 

John  Dryden. 
From  "  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day." 


Kuhla  Khan 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 

A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree: 

Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 

Through  caverns  measureless  to  man, 

Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 

So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 

With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round : 

And  there  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills 

Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing  tree; 

And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 

Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

But  O !  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 
Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedam  cover! 
A  savage  place !  as  holy  and  enchanted 
As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 
By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover! 
And  from  this  chasm,  with  ceaseless  turmoil  seeth- 
ing* 
As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were  breathing, 

[160] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A.  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced :  Songs  of 

Amid  whose  swift,  half-intermitted  burst  rancy 

Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail,  \ 

Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's  flail: 

And  'mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once  and  ever 

It  flung  up  momentl}^  the  sacred  river. 

Five  miles  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 

Through  wood  and  dale,  the  sacred  river  ran, 

Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless  to  man, 

And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean : 

And  'mid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 

Ancestral  voices  prophesj-ing  war! 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 
Floated  midway  on  the  waves ; 
Where  was  heard  the  mingled  measure 
From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 
It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device, 
A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of  ice  J 
A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 
In  a  vision  once  I  saw: 
It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid, 
And  on  her  dulcimer  she  played, 
Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 
Could  I  revive  within  me 
Her  sympathy  and  song, 
To  such  a  deep  delight  'twould  win  me,, 
That  with  music  loud  and  long, 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air, 

[161] 


GOLDEN    NUIMBERS 

Songs  of  That  sunny  dome !     Those  caves  of  ice ! 
Fanci/    ^j^j  j^ji  yy\^fy  lieard  should  sec  them  there^ 
<f       And  all  should  cr}^  Beware!     Beware! 
His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


The  Magic  Car  Moved  On 
.  .  •  •  • 

The  Fairy  and  the  Soul  proceeded; 

The  silver  clouds  disparted ; 
And,  as  the  car  of  magic  they  ascended. 

Again  the  speechless  music  swelled. 

Again  the  coursers  of  the  air 
Unfurled  their  azure  pennons,  and  the  Queen^ 

Shaking  the  beamy  reins. 

Bade  them  pursue  their  way. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 
The  night  was  fair,  and  countless  stars 
Studded  heaven's  dark-blue  vault, — 

The  eastern  wave  grew  pale 

With  the  first  smile  of  morn. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 

From  the  celestial  hoofs 
[162] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The  atmosphere  in  flaming  sparkles  flew;  Songs  qf 

And,  where  the  burning  wheels  ^^^ 

Eddied  above  the  mountain's  loftiest  peak,  ^ 

Was  traced  a  line  of  lightning. 
Now  far  above  a  rock,  the  utmost  verge 

Of  the  wide  earth,  it  flew — 
The  rival  of  the  Andes,  whose  dark  brow 

Loured  o'er  the  silver  sea. 

Far  far  below  the  chariot's  path. 

Calm  as  a  slumbering  babe, 

Tremendous  Ocean  lay. 
The  mirror  of  its  stillness  showed 

The  pale  and  waning  stars. 

The  chariot's  fiery  track. 

And  the  grey  light  of  morn 

Tingeing  those  fleecy  clouds 
That  cradled  in  their  folds  the  infant  dawn. 

The  chariot  seemed  to  fly 
Through  the  abyss  of  an  immense  concave. 
Radiant  with  million  constellations,  tinged 

With  shades  of  infinite  colour. 

And  semicircled  with  a  belt 

Flashing  incessant  meteors. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 

As  they  approached  their  goal, 
The  coursers  seemed  to  gather  speed. 
The  sea  no  longer  was  distinguished;  earth 

[163] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Songs    of         Appeared  a  vast  and  shadowy  sphere; 
Fancy  ^j^^  ^^^,^  unclouded  orb 

Rolled  through  the  black  concave; 

Its  rays  of  rapid  light 
Parted  around  the  chariot's  swifter  course. 

And  fell  like  ocean's  feathery  spray 

Dashed  from  the  boiling  surge 

Before  a  vessel's  prow. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 

Earth's  distant  orb  appeared 
The  smallest  light  that  twinkles  in  the  heavens 

Whilst  round  the  chariot's  way 
Innumerable  systems  rolled, 

And  countless  spheres  diffused 

An  ever-varying  glory. 
It  was  a  sight  of  wonder:  some 
Were  horned  like  the  crescent  moon; 
Some  shed  a  mild  and  silver  beam 
Like  Hesperus  o'er  the  western  sea; 
Some  dashed  athwart  with  trains  of  flame, 
Like  worlds  to  death  and  ruin  driven ; 
Some  shone  like  stars,  and,  as  the  chariot  passed, 

Bedimmed  all  other  light. 

• 
Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 
From  "Queen  Mah."'' 


[164] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Arethusa  Songs  of 

Fancy 
Arethusa  arose 

From  her  couch  of  snows 
In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains, — - 

From  cloud  and  from  crag, 

With  many  a  jag, 
Shepherding  her  bright  fountains. 

She  leapt  down  the  rocks 

With  her  rainbow  locks 
Streaming  among  the  streams ; 

Her  steps  paved  with  green 

The  downward  ravine 
Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams: 

And    gliding  and  springing, 

She  went,  ever  singing. 
In  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep; 

The  Earth  seemed  to  love  her, 

And  Heaven  smiled  above  her. 
As  she  lingered  towards  the  deep. 

Then  Alpheus  bold. 

On  his  glacier  cold, 
With  his  trident  the  mountains  strook 

And  opened  a  chosm 

In  the  rocks ; — with  the  SDasm 
All  Erymanthus  shook. 

And  the  black  south  wind 

It  concealed  behind 
US5J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

S(mgt  nf  The  urns  of  the  silent  snow, 

Fancy  ^^d  earthquake  and  thunder 

^  Did  rend  in  sunder 

The  bars  of  the  springs  below. 
The  beard  and  the  hair 
Of  the  River-god  were 
Seen  through  the  torrent's  sweep, 
As  he  followed  the  light 
Of  the  fleet  nymph's  flight 
To  the  brink  of  the  Dorian  deep. 

"  Oh !  save  me !  Oh !  guide  me  [ 
And  bid  the  deep  hide  me! 

For  he  grasps  me  now  by  the  hair  I " 
The  loud  Ocean  heard, 
To  its  blue  depth  stirred, 

And  divided  at  her  prayer; 
And  under  the  water 
The  Earth's  wliite  daughter 

Fled  like  a  sunny  beam, 
Behind  her  descended. 
Her  billows  unblended 

With  the  brackish  Dorian  stream^ 
Like  a  gloomy  stain 
On  the  emerald  main, 

Alpheus  rusned  behind, — 
As  an  eagle  pursuing 
A  dove  to  ite  ruin 

DoTi'n  the  streams  of  the  cloudy  wind* 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Under  the  bowers  Sotigs  oj 

Where  the  Ocean  Powers  Fanc^ 

Sit  on  their  pearled  thrones;  {P 

Through  the  coral  woods 

Of  the  weltering  floods ; 
Over  heaps  of  unvalued  stones; 

Through  the  dim  beams 

Which   amid   the   streams 
Weave  a  network  of  colored  light; 

And  under  the  caves 

Where  the  shadowy  waves 
Are  as  green  as  the  forest's  night; 

Outspceding  the  shark, 

And  the  swordfish  dark, — 
Under  the  ocean  foam, 

And  up  through  the  rifts 

Of  the  mountain  clifts, — 
They  passed  to  their  Dorian  home. 

And  now  from  their  fountains 

In  Enna's  mountains, 
Down  one  vale  where  the  morning  basksj, 

Like  friends  once  parted 

Grown  single-hearted, 
They  ply  their  watery  tasks. 

At  sunrise  they  leap 

From  their  cradles  steep 
Id  the  cave  of  the  shelving  hill; 
[1S7  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

^(tngs  of  At  noontide  they  flow 

Fon(^  Through  the  woods  below 

^  And  the  meadows  of  asphodel ; 

And  at  night  they  sleep 
In  the  rocking  deep 
Beneath  the  Ort3^gian  shore;— 
Like  the  spirits  that  lie 
In  the  azure  sky, 
When  they  love  but  live  no  more. 

Percy  Bysshe  Sheli.eY« 


The  Culprit  Fay 
(Extracts) 

III 

Fairy  Dawn 

'Tis  the  hour  of  fairy  ban  and  spell: 
The  wood-tick  has  kept  the  minutes  well ; 
He  has  counted  them  all  with  click  and  stroke^ 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain  oak, 
And  he  has  awakened  the  sentry  elve 

Who  sleeps  with  him  in  the  haunted  tree, 
To  bid  him  ring  the  hour  of  twelve. 

And  call  the  fays  to  their  revelry; 
Twelve  small  strokes  on  liis  tinkling  bell— — 

[ifiSl 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

('Twas  made  of  the  white  snail's  pearly  shell) —  Songs  eg 

"Midnight  comes,  and  all  is  well!  ^^'^V 
Hither,  hither,  wing  your  way!  ^ 

'Tis  the  dawn  of  the  fairy-day." 

IV 

The  Assembling  of  the  Fays 

They  come  from  beds  of  lichen  green. 
They  creep  from  the  mullein's  velvet  screen; 

Some  on  the  backs  of  beetles  fly 
From  the  silver  tops  of  moon-touched  trees. 

Where  they  swung  in  their  cobweb  hammocks 
high, 
And  rocked  about  in  the  evening  breeze: 

Some  from  the  humbird's  downy  nest — 
They  had  driven  him  out  by  elfln  power. 

And,    pillowed    on    plumes    of    his    rainbow 
breast, 
Had  slumbered  there  till  the  charmed  hour; 
Some  had  lain  in  the  scoop  of  the  rock. 
With  glittering  ising-stars  inlaid; 
And  some  had  opened  the  four-o'clock. 
And  stole  within  its  purple  shade. 
And  now  they  throng  the  moonlight  glade. 
Above — below — on  every  side. 
Their  little  minim  forms  arrayed. 
In  the  tricksy  pomp  of  fairy  pride. 

[  169  ] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 


Songs  of  iry 

Fancy  *-^ 


^ 


The  Throne  of  the  Lily-King 

The  throne  was  reared  upon  the  grass. 
Of  spice- wood  and  of  sassafras; 
On  pillars  of  mottled  tortoise-shell 

Hung  the  burnished  canopy — 
And  over  it  gorgeous  curtains  fell 

Of  the  tulip's  crimson  drapery. 
The  monarch  sat  on  his  judgment-seat, 

On  his  brow  the  crown  imperial  shone. 
The  prisoner  Fay  was  at  his  feet, 

And  his  peers  were  ranged  around  the  throne, 
He  waved  his  sceptre  in  the  air, 

He  looked  around  and  calmly  spoke; 
His  brow  was  grave  and  his  eye  severe. 

But  his  voice  in  a  softened  accent  broke: 

VII 

The  Fay^s  Crime 

Fairy!  Fairy!  list  and  mark: 

Thou  hast  broke  thine  elfin  chain; 
Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenclied  and  dark. 

And  thy  wings  are  dyed  with  a  deadly  stain — 
Thou  hast  sullied  thine  elfin  purity 

In  the  glance  of  a  mortal  maiden's  eye. 
Thou  hast  scorned  our  dread  decree. 

And  thou  shouldst  pay  the  forfeit  high, 

[170] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

But  well  I  know  her  sinless  mind  Sonas  of 

Is  pure  as  the  angel  forms  above,  ^^^ 

Gentle  and  meek,  and  chaste  and  kind,  9 

Such  as  a  spirit  well  might  love; 

Fairy!  had  she  spot  or  taint. 

Bitter  had  been  thy  punishment. 


VIII 

The  Fay's  Sentence 

"Thou  shalt  seek  the  beach  of  sand 

Where  the  water  bounds  the  elfin  land; 

Thou  shalt  watch  the  oozy  brine 

Till  the  sturgeon  leaps  in  the  bright  moonshine, 

Then  dart  the  glistening  arch  below. 

And  catch  a  drop  from  his  silver  bow. 

The  water-sprites  will  wield  their  arms 

And  dash  around,  with  roar  and  rave. 
And  vain  are  the  woodland  spirits'  charms. 

They  are  the  imps  that  rule  the  wave. 
Yet  trust  thee  in  thy  single  might: 
If  thy  heart  be  pure  and  thy  spirit  right, 
Thou  shalt  win  the  warlock  fight. 

IX 

"Iftlhe  spray-bead  gem  be  won, 
The  stain  of  thy  wing  is  washed  away: 
But  another  errand  must  be  done 

1 171 1 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Songs  of  Ere  thy  crime  be  lost  for  aye; 
tancy    r^^^  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark, 
♦'       Thou  must  reillume  its  spark. 

Mount  thy  steed  and  spur  him  high 
To  the  heaven's  blue  canopy; 
And  when  thou  seest  a  shooting  star. 
Follow  it  fast,  and  follow  it  far — 
The  last  faint  spark  of  its  burning  train 
Shall  light  the  elfin  lamp  again. 
Thou  hast  heard  our  sentence.  Fay; 
Heticel  to  the  water-side,  away!" 


X 

The  Fay's  Departure 

The  goblin  marked  his  monarch  well; 

He  spake  not,  but  he  bowed  him  low. 
Then  plucked  a  crimson  colen-bell. 

And  turned  him  round  in  act  to  go. 
The  way  is  long,  he  cannot  fly, 

His  soiled  wing  has  lost  its  power. 
And  he  winds  adown  the  mountain  high, 

For  many  a  sore  and  weary  hour. 
Through  dreary  beds  of  tangled  fern, 
Through  groves  of  nightshade  dark  and  derui 
Over  the  grass  and  through  the  brake, 
Where  toils  the  ant  and  sleeps  the  snake: 
Now  over  the  violet's  azure  flush 

[172] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

He  skips  along  in  lightsome  mood ;  Songs  of 

And  now  he  thrids  the  bramble-bush,  ranc^ 

Till  its  points  are  dyed  in  fair>^  blood.  ^ 

He  has  leaped  the  bog,  he  has  pierced  the  brier, 

He  has  swum  the  brook,  and  waded  the  mire, 

Till  his  spirits  sank,  and  his  limbs  grew  weak, 

And  the  red  waxed  fainter  in  his  cheek. 

He  had  fallen  to  the  ground  outright. 

For  nigged  and  dim  was  his  onward  track, 

But  there  came  a  spotted  toad  in  sight, 

And  he  laughed  as  he  jumped  upon  her  back: 

He  bridled  her  mouth  with  a  silkweed  bvist, 

He  lashed  her  sides  with  an  osier  thong ; 

And  now,  through  evening's  dewy  mist. 
With  leap  and  spring  they  bound  along. 

Till  the  mountain's  magic  verge  is  past. 

And  the  beach  of  sand  is  reached  at  last. 

Joseph  Rodman  Drake. 

r 

A  Myth 

A  floating,  a  floating 

Across  the  sleeping  sea. 
All  night  I  heard  a  singing  bird 

Upon  the  topmast  tree. 

*'  Oh,  came  you  from  the  isles  of  Greece 
Or  from  the  banks  of  Seine.'' 
C173] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

.SoM^.v  of  Or  off  some  tree  In  forests  free 

Fnncij  That  fringe  the  western  main?" 

•'  I  came  not  off  the  old  world, 
Nor  yet  from  off  the  new; 

But  I  am  one  of  the  birds  of  God 
\\niich  sing  the  whole  night  through." 

"  Oh,  sing  and  wake   the  dawning! 

Oh,  whistle  for  the  wind ! 
The  night  is  long,  the  current  strong. 

My  boat  it  lags  behind." 

"  The  current  sweeps  the  old  world, 
The  current  sweeps  the  new; 

The  wind  will  blow,  the  dawn  will  glow, 
Ere  thou  hast  sailed  them  through." 
Chakles  Kingsley. 


The  Fairy  Folk 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen 
We  daren't  go  a-hunting, 

For  fear  of  little  men; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

And  white  owl's  feather. 
[  174  J 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore  Songs     of 

Some  make  their  home,  ^ 

They  Hve  on  crispy  pancakes  ▼ 

Of  yellow  tide-foam; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain-lake. 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 

All  night  awake. 

Hign  on  the  hill-top 

The  old  King  sits; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses. 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses; 
Or  going  up  with  music, 

On  cold  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long; 
When  she  came  down  again 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 

They  took  her  lightly  back. 

Between  the  night  and  morrow; 
[175] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of  They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 

tanoff  jj^|.  gj^g  ^^g^g  (jgg^j  yyjj^}^  sorrow. 

Jf"  They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lakes, 
On  a  bed  of  flag  leaves, 
Watching  till  she  wakes. 

By  the  craggy  hillside, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  one  up  in  spite? 
He  shall  find  the  thornies  set 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen. 
We  daren't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap*, 

.And  white  owl's  feather. 

William  Ai.lingham. 


|i^6j 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The  Merman  Songs    of 

Fancy 

I  r 

Who  would  be 
A  merman  bold, 
Sitting  alone. 
Singing  alone 
Under  the  sea, 
With  a  crown  of  gold. 
On  a  throne? 

II 

I  would  be  a  merman  bold, 
I  would  sit  and  sing  the  whole  of  the  day; 
I  would  fill  the  sea-halls  with  a  voice  of  power 
But  at  night  I  would  roam  abroad  and  play 
With  the  mermaids  in  and  out  of  the  rocks. 
Dressing  their  hair  with  the  white  sea-flower; 
And  holding  them  back  by  their  flowing  locks 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea. 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kiss'd  me 

Laughingly,  laughingly; 
And  then  we  would  wander  away,  away. 
To  the  pale-green  sea-groves  straight  and  high. 

Chasing  each  other  merrily. 

Ill 

There  would  be  neither  moon  nor  star; 

But  the  wave  would  make  music  above  us  afar — 

[177] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Songs  of  Low  thunder  and  light  in  the  magic  night — 
■''"'"^  Neither  moon  nor  star. 

^       We  would  call  aloud  in  the  dreamy  dells, 
Call  to  each  other  and  whoop  and  cry 

All  night,  merrily,  merrily. 
They  would  pelt  me  with  starry  spangles  and 

shells, 
Laughing  and  clapping  their  hands  between, 

All  night,  merrily,  merrily, 
But  I  would  throw  to  them  back  in  mine 
Turkis  and  agate  and  almondine ; 
Then  leaping  out  upon  them  unseen 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kiss'd  me 

Laughingly,  laughingly. 
O,  what  a  happy  life  were  mine 
Under  the  hollow-hung  ocean  green! 
Soft  are  the  moss-beds  under  the  sea; 
We  would  live  merrily,  merrily. 

Alfred,  Lort)  Tennyson. 

r 

The  Mermaid 
I 

Who  would  be 
A  mermaid  fair, 
Singing  alone, 
Combing  her  hair 
(178] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Under  the  sea,  Swigs  of 

In  a  golden  curl  ^''"^ 

With  a  comb  of  pearl,  % 
On  a  throne? 

II 

I  would  be  a  mermaid  fair; 

I  would  sing  to  myself  the  whole  of  the  day ; 

With  a  comb  of  pearl  I  would  comb  my  hair; 

And  still  as  I  combed  I  would  sing  and  say, 

"  Who  is  it  loves  me?  who  loves  not  me?  " 

I  would  comb  my  hair  till  my  ringlets  would  fall 

Low  adown,  low  adown, 

From  under  my  starry  sea-bud  crown 

Low  adown  and  around, 

And  I  should  look  like  a  fountain  of  gold 

Springing  alone 

With  a  shrill  inner  sound, 

Over  the  throne 

In  the  midst  of  the  hall ; 

Till  that  great  sea-snake  under  the  sea 

From  his  coiled  sleeps  in  the  central  deeps 

Would  siowly  trail  himself  sevenfold 

Round  the  hall  where  I  sate,  and  look  in  at  tht 

gate 
With  his  large  calm  eyes  for  t^^e  love  of  me. 
And  all  the  mermen  under  the  sea 
Would  feel  their  immortality 
Die  in  their  hearts  for  the  love  of  me. 

[1T9] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Songs  of  TJX 

Fancy 

Bul  at  night  I  would  wander  away,  away, 

I  would  fling  on  each  side  my  low-flowing  locks, 
And  lightly  vault  from  the  throne  and  play 

With  the  mermen  in  and  out  of  the  rocks ; 
We  would  run  to  and  fro,  and  hide  and  seek, 

On  the  broad  sea-wolds  in  the  crimson  shells, 

Whose  silvery  spikes  are  nearest  the  sea. 
But  if  any  came  near  I  would  call  and  shriek. 
And  adown  the  steep  like  a  wave  I  would  leap 

From  the  diamond  ledges  that  jut  from  the 
dells ; 
For  I  would  not  be  kiss'd  by  all  who  would  list, 
Of  the  bold  merry  mermen  under  the  sea ; 
They  would  sue  me,  and  woo  me,  and  flatter  me, 
In  the  purple  twilights  under  the  sea; 
But  the  king  of  them  all  would  carry  me, 
Woo  me,  win  me,  and  marry  me. 
In  the  branching  jaspers  under  the  sea; 
Then  all  the  dry  pied  things  that  be 
In  the  hueless  mosses  under  the  sea 
Would  curl  round  my  silver  feet  silently, 
All  looking  up  for  the  love  of  me. 
And  if  I  should  carol  aloud  from  aloft 
All  things  that  are  forked  and  horned  and  soft 
Would  lean  out  from  the  hollow  sphere  of  the  seaf 
All  lodcing  down  for  the  love  of  tne. 

Aljcred,  Loed  Tennyson, 

[180] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Bugle  Song  ^Tan(^ 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls,  $ 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
BloMs  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying: 
Blow,  bugle,  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Oh  hark!  oh  hear!  how  thin  and  clear. 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going! 
Oh  sweet  and  far  from  cliff  and  scar 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying: 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  Love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky. 

They  faint  on  hill,  or  jfield,  or  river: 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  grow  forever  and  forever: 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 
From  "The  Princess." 


[1811 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of  The  Raven 

Fancy 
2^       Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered, 

weak  and  weary, 

Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  for- 
gotten lore, 

While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there 
came  a  tapping. 

As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my 
chamber  door. 

"  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my 
chamber  door — 

Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak 

December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost 

upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly   I  wished  the  morrow; — vainly   I  had 

sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow  for 

the  lost  Lenore — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels 

name  Lenore — 

Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken  sad   uncertain  rustling  of  each 
purple  curtain 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Thrilled    me — filled   me   with    fantastic    terrors  Songx  of 
never  felt  before;  Fanctf 

5o  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I        ^ 
stood  repeating 

*  'Tis   some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my 
chamber  door — 

Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  mj  cham- 
ber door; — 

This  it  is,  and  nothing  more. 


»> 


Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then 
no  longer, 

•'  Sir,"  said  I,  "  or  Madam,  truly  your  forgive- 
ness I  implore ; 

But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you 
came  rapping. 

And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at 
my  chamber  door, 

That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  '* — here  I 

opened  wide  the  door , • 

Darkness  there,  ana  noLliing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood 

there  wondering,  fearing, 
Doubting,  areammg  dreams  rv\j  mortal  ever  dared 

to  dream  befoi-e; 
But  the  silence  was  unoroken,  and  the  darknes* 

gave  no  token, 

I  183  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of  And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered 
^'^"^  word,  "  Lenorc !  " 

^       This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the 
word,  "  Lenore !  " 

Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within 

me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  somewhat  louder 

than  before. 
*'  Surely,"  said  I,  "surely  that  is  something  at  my 

window  lattice; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery 

explore — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery 

explore ; — 

'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more ! " 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many 

a  flirt  and  flutter. 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly 

days  of  yore. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  an  instant 

stopped  or  stayed  he; 
But,  Avith  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my 

chamber  door — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my 

chamber  door — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 
[  184] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  Songs  of 

smiling,  ^W 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  coun-       ^' 

tenance  it  wore, 
•'  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou," 

I  said,  "  art  sure  no  craven, 
Shastly  grim  and  ancient  raven  wandering  from 

the  Nightly  shore — 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's 

Plutonian  shore !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore." 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  dis- 
course so  plainly. 

Though  its   answer  little   meaning — little  rele- 
vancy bore; 

For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human 
being 

Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his 
chamber  door — 

Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his 
chamber  door. 

With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 

But  the  raven,  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust, 

spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he 

did  outpour. 

1185  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Songs  of  Nothing  further  tlien  he  uttered — not  a  feather 
Fa?ici/  tiicn  he  fluttered— 

^       Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered  "  Other  friends 
have  flown  before — 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have 
flown  before." 

Then  the  bird  said  "  Nevermore." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptlj 
spoken, 

"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters  is  its  onlj 
stock  and  store, 

Caught  from  some  unhappy  master  whom  un- 
merciful disaster 

Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs 
one  burden  bore — 

Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden 
bore 

Of  '  Never — nevermore.'  " 

But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into 

smiling. 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of 

bird  and  bust  and  door; 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to 

linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous 

bird  of  yore — 

1186) 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

What  this  grim,  ungcainly,  ghastly,  gaunt  and  Songs  of 
ominous  binl  ot  yore 


Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore 


»» 


This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable 

^,xpressing 
To  xbf^  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my 

bosom's  core; 
This  and  more  1  sat  divdning,  with  my  head  at 

ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light 

gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamp-light 

gloating  o'er, 

She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore! 

Tlien,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed 
from  an  unseen  censer 

Swung  by  angels  whose  faint  foot-falls  tinkled 
on  the  tufted  floor. 

"  Wretch,"  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee — by 
these  angels  he  hath  sent  thee 

Respite — respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memo- 
ries of  Lenore ! 

Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget 
this  lost  Lenore !  " 

Quoth  the  ra-v^p.;  "  Nevermore." 

[187] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Songs    of  "Prophet,"    said    I,    "thing    of    evil! — prophet 
Fancy  g^ju^  jf  i^j^d  or  devil  !— 

^        Whether  Tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed 
thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land 

enchanted — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted — tell  me  truly, 

I  implore — 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead? — tell  me — tell 
me,  I  implore! 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

"Prophet!"    said    I,    "thing    of    evil — prophet 

still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  Heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that 

God  we  both  adore — 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the 

distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels 

name  Lenore — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels 

name  Lenore?" 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

**Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or 
fiend!"  I  shrieked,  upstarting — 

"Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's 
Plutonian  shore! 

[188] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Leave  no  Hack  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  .Sbms«  ^' 
soul  bath  spoken !  Fancg 

Leave  my  lonch'ness  unbroken  !  quit  the  bust  above       ^' 
my  door! 

Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy 
form  from  off  my  door !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore." 

And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  stili 

is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chaiO' 

her  door ; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's 

that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  h*n 

Aadow  on  the  floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lier  fioat- 

ing  on  the  floor 

Shall  be  lifted — nevermore! 

Edgar  Allan  Pok. 


The  Bells 

I 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bells  — 
Silver  bells! 
What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells! 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

I  189) 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Songs  of  In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 

la/uy  While  the  stars,  that  oversprinkle 

^  All  the  heavens,  seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  delight; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells— 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

II 

Hear  the  mellow  wedding  bells, 
Golden  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  fore- 
tells ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight! 
From  the  molten-golden  notes, 

And  all  in  tune. 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 
On  the  moon ! 
Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells. 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells  I 
How  it  swells ! 
How  it  dwells 
On  the  Future !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
I  190  J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing  Sotigs  of 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  ^"'"^^ 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  f 

Bells,  bells,  bells— 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells ! 

Ill 

Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells — 
Brazen  bells ! 
What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells ! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright! 
Too  much  horrified  to  speak. 
They  can  only  shriek,  shriek, 
Out  of  tune, 
In  the  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the 

fire. 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic 

fire. 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire. 
And  a  resolute  endeavor 
Now — now  to  sit  or  never, 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells ! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 
Of  despair ! 
How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar,' 
[191] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sonss  of  What  a  horror  they  outpour 

I'anc^  On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  airi 

IT  Yet  the  ear  it  fully  knows, 

By  the  twanging, 
And  the  clanging, 
How  the  clanger  ebbs  and  flows; 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells, 
In  the  jangling 
And  the  wrangling. 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells. 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of  1,2^^ 

bells— 
Of  the  bells- 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells,- — 
h)  the  clamor  raid  the  clangor  of  the  bells. 

IV 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells — 
Iron  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody 

compels ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
.From  the  rust  within  their  throats 
Is  a  groan. 
[  192  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  the  people — ah,  the  people —  Songs  of 

They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple,  ^^^^9 

All  alone,  •* 

And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — - 
They   are   neither  brute   or  human — - 
They  are  Ghouls: 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls: 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 
Rolls 
A  pfEan  from  the  bells ! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 

With  the  paean  of  the  bells! 
And  he  dances  and  he  yells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 
To  the  p£ean  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells : 
Keeping  time,  time,  time 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells. 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,— 

To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Songs    of  In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme, 

Fancy  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^  bells,— 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, — 
To  the  tolling  of  the  bells. 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells, — 
To  the  moaning  and  groaning  of  the  bells. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


[194] 


INTERLEAVES 


Spo?is  and  Pasthnes' 

n  ancient  tapestries,  centurie^  old,  yoji  sometimes  see, 
•wrought  in  delicate  needlewor,:  that  is  faded  with  the 
lapse  of  years,  pictures  of  the  sports  of  the  period. 
There  will  be  quaint  scenes  showing  otter  and  hear  hunt- 
ing, swans'"  nesting;  hawki/ng,  chasing  the  deer,  and  the 
like;  in-door  scenes,  too,  depicting  pretty  pages  strum- 
ming musical  instruments,  and  lovely  ladies  at  their 
tambour  or  ^broidery  frames. 

The  poetry  of  each  passing  age  preserves  pictures  of 
its  plays  and  diversions  still  more  perfectly  than  worn 
and  tattered  tapestry,  and  the  verses  we  have  chosen 
cover  a  beimldering  variety  of  pastimes  and  recreations. 
The  poets  have  sounded  the  praises  of  almost  every  kind 
of  sport:  angling,  swimming,  skating,  bubble-blowing, 
going  a-Maying,  walking,  riding,  whittling,  nutting, 
the  country  pleasures  of  "  the  barefoot  boy,''  the  joys 
of  reading,  the  delights  of  music,  and  the  exhilarations 
of  cruising  and  travelling.  One  poem  of  the  immediate 
present,  Beeching's  "  Bicycling  Song,"  shows  us  that 
the  sport  of  the  moment  need  not  of  necessity  be  too 
commonplace  to  be  zvrought  into  verse.  At  first  thought 
the  amusements  of  these  latter  days  are  so  swift  and 
breathless,  so  complicated  with  steam,  electricity,  and 
other  great  forces  of  the  new'  era,  thM  they  seem  less 
poetic  than  the  picturesque  frolics  of  milkmaids  and 
shepherds,  the  games  of  the  old  Greeks  or  the  gay  sports 
of  the  days  of  vhivalry.  But  after  all,  as  Lowell  said, 
"  there  is  as  much  poetry  in  the  iron  horses  that  eat  fire 
as  in  those  of  Diomcd  that  fed  on  men.  If  you  cut  an 
apple  across,  you  may  trace  In  it  the  lines  of  the  blos- 
som that  the  bee  hummed  around  in  May;  and  so  the 
toul  of  poetry  survives  in  things  prosaic." 


Vll 
SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES 

Blowing  Bubbles 

See,  the  pretty  Planet! 

Floating  sphere! 
Faintest  breeze  will  fan  it 

Far  or  near* 

tVorld  as  light  as  feather; 

Moonshine  rays. 
Rainbow  tints  together. 
As  it  plays; 

Drooping,  sinking,  failing, 

Nigh  to  earth. 
Mounting,  whirling,  sailing. 

Full  of  mirth; 

Life  there,  welling,  flowing, 

Waving  round; 
Pictures  coming,  going, 

Without  sound. 

[195] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sporii  Quick  now,  be  this  airy 

"""^  Globe  repell'd ! 

Pasiintet  _,.  ,^      f  - 

Never  v « i,  the  lairy 

Stai  Le  held. 


Touch' d — it  in  a  twinkle 

Disappears ! 
Leaving  but  a  sprinkle. 

As  of  tears. 

William  Allingham 

r 

Bicycling  Song 

With  lifted  feet,  hands  still, 
I  am  poised,  and  down  the  hill 
Dart,  with  heedful  mind ; 
The  air  goes  by  in  a  wind. 

Swifter  and  yet  more  swift, 
Till  the  heart  with  a  mighty  lift 
Makes  the  lungs  laugh,  the  throat  cry:— 
"  0  bird,  see ;  see,  bird,  I  fly. 

"  Is  this,  is  this  your  joy? 

O  bird,  then  I,  though  a  boy, 

For  a  golden  moment  share 

Your  feathery  life  in  air ! " 

[196  1 


Pastinter 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Say,  heart,  is  there  aught  like  this  Spoius 

In  a  world  that  is  full  of  bliss?  ««^ 

'Tis  more  than  skating,  bound 
Steel-shod  to  tlie  level  ground. 

Speed  slackens  now,  I  float 
Awhile  in  my  airy  boat ; 
Till,  when  the  wheels  scarce  crawl. 
My  feet  to  the  treadles  fall. 

Alas,  that  the  longest  hill 
Must  end  in  a  vale ;  but  still, 
Who  climbs  with  toil,  wheresoe'er, 
Shall  find  wings  waiting  there. 

Heney  Charles  Beeching. 

r 

Going  A  Maying 

Get  up,  get  up  for  shame !     The  blooming  mom 
Upon  her  wings  presents  the  god  unshorn: 
See  how  Aurora  throws  her  fair 
Fresh-quilted  colours  through  the  air: 
Get  up,  sweet-slug-a-bed,  and  see 
The  dew-bespangled  herb  and  tree! 
Each  flower  has  wept  and  bowed  toward  the  east, 
Above  an  hour  since,  yet  you  not  drest, 
Nay,  not  so  much  as  out  of  bed? 
When  all  the  birds  have  matins  said, 
£197  1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sports  And  sung  their  thankful  hymns,  'tis  sin, 

arid  Nay,  profanation,  to  keep  in, 

Whenas  a  thousand  virgins  on  this  day, 
T        Spring,  sooner  than  the  lark,  to  fetch  in  May. 

Rise,  and  put  on  your  foliage,  and  be  seen 
To  come  forth,  like  the  Spring-time  fresh  and 
green. 
And  sweet  as  Flora.     Take  no  care 
For  jewels  for  your  gown  or  hair: 
Fear  not ;  the  leaves  will  strew 
Gems  in  abundance  upon  you: 
Besides,  the  childhood  of  the  day  has  kept. 
Against  you  come,  some  orient  pearls  unwept. 
Come,  and  receive  them  while  the  light 
Hangs  on  the  dew-locks  of  the  night. 
And  Titan  on  the  eastern  hill 
Retires  himself,  or  else  stands  still 
Till  you  come  forth!     Wash,  dress,  be  brief  in 

praying : 
Few  beads  are  best,  when  once  we  go  a  IVIaying. 

Come,  my  Corinna,  come ;  and  coming,  mark 
How  each  field  turns  a  street,  each  street  a  park, 
Made  green,  and  trimmed  with  trees !  see  how 
Devotion  gives  each  house  a  bough 
Or  branch !  each  porch,  each  door,  ere  this. 
An  ark,  a  tabernacle  is, 
Made  up  of  white-thorn  neatly  interwove. 


Pastime* 


.    GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

As  if  here  were  those  cooler  shades  of  love.  Sporit 

Can  such  delights  be  in  the  street,  ^  ""f' 

And  open  fields,  and  we  not  see't? 

Come,  we'll  abroad :  and  let's  obey 

The  proclamation  made  for  May. 
And  sin  no  more,  as  we  have  done,  by  staying. 
But,  my  Corinna,  come,  let's  go  a  Maying. 

There's  not  a  budding  boy  or  girl,  this  day, 
But  is  got  up,  and  gone  to  bring  in  May. 

A  deal  of  youth,  ere  this  is  come 

Back  and  with  white-thorn  laden  home. 

Some  have  despatched  their  cakes  and  cream. 

Before  that  we  have  left  to  dream : 
And  some  have  wept,  and  woo'd,  and  plighted 

troth. 
And  chose  their  priest,  ere  we  can  cast  off  sloth: 

Many  a  green-gown  has  been  given, 

]\Iany  a  kiss,  both  odd  and  even: 

Many  a  glance,  too,  has  been  sent 

From  out  the  eye,  love's  firmament: 
Alany  a  jest  told  of  the  keys  betraying 
This  night,  and  locks  picked:  yet  we're  not  a 
Maying. 

Come,  let  us  go,  while  we  are  in  our  prime. 
And  take  the  harmless  folly  of  the  time ! 

We  shall  grow  old  apace,  and  die 

Before  we  know  our  liberty. 
[199] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Sports  Our  life  is  short,  and  our  days  run 

Pastimes  ^^  ^^^^  away  as  does  the  sun. 

^        And  as  a  vapour,  or  a  drop  of  rain. 
Once  lost,  can  ne'er  be  found  again. 
So  when  or  you  or  I  are  made 
A  fable,  song,  or  fleeting  shade,  ' 
All  love,  all  liking,  all  delight, 
Lies  drowned  with  us  in  endless  night. 
Then,  while  time  serves,  and  we  are  but  decaying, 
Come,  my  Corinna,  come,  let's  go  a  Maying. 

Robert  Herrick. 

Jog  On,  Jog  On* 

Jog  on,  jog  on  the  foot  path-way. 
And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a. 

Your  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day. 
Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a. 

Your  paltry  money-bags  of  gold — 
What  need  have  we  to  stare  for. 

When  little  or  nothing  soon  is  told. 
And  we  have  the  less  to  care  for. 

Then  cast  away  care,  let  sorrow  cease, 

A  fig  for  melancholy; 
Let's  laugh  and  sing,  or,  if  you  please. 

We'll  frolic  with  sweet  Dolly. 

Fram  The  Winter's  Tale. 

*First  stanza  by   William   Shakespeare.     Last  two  stanzas  i 
by  unknown  author  in  "  Antidote  Against  Melancholy,"  t66t,  •. 

[200] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A    Vagabond  Song  Sj)07U 

and 
There  is  something  in  the  Autiinm  that  is  native  Pastimm 

to  my  blood —  Se» 

Touch  of  manner,  hint  of  mood ; 
And  my  heart  is  like  a  rhyme, 
With  the  yellow  and  the  purple  and  the  crimson 

keeping  time. 

The  scarlet  of  the  maples  can  shake  me  like  a  cry 

Of  bugles  going  by. 

And  my  lonely  spirit  thrills 

To  see  the  frosty  asters  like  smoke  upon  the  hills. 

There  is  something  in  October  sets  the  gipsy  blood 

astir ; 
We  must  rise  and  follow  her, 
When  from  every  hill  of  flame 
She  calls  and  calls  each  vagabond  by  name. 

Bliss  Carman. 


Swimming 

And  mightier  grew  the  joy  to  meet  full-faced 
Each  wave,  and  mount  with  upward  plunge,  and 

taste 
The  rapture  of  its  rolling  strength,  and  cross 
Its  flickering  crown  of  snows  that  flash  and  toss 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sj)orts    Like  plumes  in  battle's  blithest  charge,  and  thence 

P  and      rp^  match  the  next  with  yet  more  strenuous  sense; 
Till  on  his  ej'es  the  light  beat  hard  and  bade 
His  face  turn  west  and  shoreward  through  the 

glad 
Swift  revel  of  the  waters  golden-clad, 
!And  back  with  light  reluctant  heart  he  bore 
Across  the  broad-backed  rollers  in  to  shore. 

Algernon  C.  Swinburne. 
From  *'  Tristram  of  Lyonesse." 


Swimming 

How  many  a  time  have  I 
Cloven,  with  arm  still  lustier,  breast  more  daring, 
The  wave  all  roughened ;  with  a  swimmer's  stroke 
Flinging  the  billows  back  from  my  drenched  hair, 
And  laughing  from  my  lip  the  audacious  brine, 
Which  kissed  it  like  a  wine-cup,  riring  o'er 
The  waves  as  they  arose,  and  prouder  still 
The  loftier  they  uplifted  me;  and  oft, 
In  wantonness  of  spirit,  plunging  dovrn 
Into  their  green  and  glassy  gulfs,  and  making 
My  way  to  shells  and  seaweed,  all  unseen 
By  those  above,  till  they  waxed  fearful ;  then 
Returning  with  my  grasp  full  of  such  tokens 
As  showed  that  I  had  searched  the  deep ;  exulting» 
With  a  far-dashing  stroke,  and  drawing  deep 

(SOS) 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  long  suspended  breath,  again  I  spumed         Sport* 

and 
Pastime* 


The  foam  which  broke  around  me,  and  pursued 
My  track  like  a  sea-bird. — I  Avas  a  boy  then. 

Geouge  Gordox,  Loud  Byron. 
From  "  Tlie  Two  Foscari." 


r 


The  Angler's  Reveille* 

What  time  the  rose  of  dawn  is  laid  across  the  lips 

of  night. 
And  all  the  drowsy  little  stars  have  fallen  asleep 

in  light; 
'Tis  then  a  wandering  wind  awakes,  and  runs 

from  tree  to  tree. 
And  borrows  words  from  all  the  birds  to  sound 

the  reveille. 

This  is  the  carol  the  Robin  throws 

Over  the  edge  of  the  valley; 
Listen  how  boldly  it  flows, 

Sally  on  sally: 

Tirra-lirra, 
Down  the  river. 
Laughing  water 
All  a-quiver. 
Day  is  near, 

•  From  ••  The  ToiUtuj  of  Felw.'"    By  permission  of  Charin 

{2m\ 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

^P^  Clear,  clear. 

and 

Pastimes  Fish  are  breaking, 

Time  for  waking. 
Tup,  tup,  tup! 
Do  you  hear? 
All  clear — 
Wake  up! 

The  phantom  flood  of  dreams  has  ebbed  and  van- 
ished with  the  dark, 

And  like  a  dove  the  heart  forsakes  the  prison  of 
the  ark; 

Now  forth  she  fares  through  friendly  woods  and 
diamond-fields  of  dew, 

While  every  voice  cries  out  "Rejoice!"  as  if  the 
world  were  new. 

This  is  the  ballad  the  Bluebird  sings. 

Unto  his  mate  replying. 
Shaking  the  tune  from  his  wings 

While  he  is  flying: 

Surely,  surely,  surely. 

Life  is  dear 

Even  here. 

Blue  above. 

You  to  love. 
Purely,  purely,  purely. 
[204] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

There's  wild  azalea  on  the  hill,  and  roses  down  the   Sports 

A  11  ^^'^ 

^^"'  Pastimes 

And  just  one  spray  of  lilac  still  abloom  beside  the       ^ 

well; 
The  columbine  adorns  the  rocks,  the  laurel  buds 

grow  pink, 
Along  the  stream  white  arums  gleam,  and  violets 

bend  to  drink. 


This  is  the  song  of  the  Yellowthroat, 

Fluttering  gaily  beside  you; 
Hear  how  each  voluble  note 

Offers  to  guide  you : 

Which  way,  sir? 
I  say,  sir. 

Let  me  teach  you, 
I  beseech  you! 
Are  you  wishing 
Jolly  fishing? 
This  way,  sir! 
I'll  teach  you. 

Then  come,  my  friend,  forget  your  foes,  and  leave 

your  fears  behind, 
And  wander  forth  to  try  your  luck,  with  cheerful, 

quiet  mind; 

I  20o  j 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sports    For  be  your  fortune  great  or  small,  you'll  take 


".  what  God  may  give, 

And  all  the  day  your  heart  shall  say,  "  'TIs  luck 
V  enough  to  live." 


This  is  the  song  the  Brown  Thrush  flings. 

Out  of  his  thicket  of  roses ; 
Hark  how  it  warbles  and  rings, 

Mark  how  it  closes : 

Luck,  luck. 
What  luck? 
Good  enough  for  me ! 
I'm  alive,  you  see. 
Sun  shining, 
No  repining; 
Never  borrow 
Idle  sorrow; 
Drop  it! 
Cover  it  up ! 
Hold  your  cup! 
Joy  will  fill  it, 
Don't  spill  it. 
Steady,  be  ready, 
Good  luck ! 

Henry  van  Dyke, 

r 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The  Angler  s  Invitation  onrf 

Come  when  the  leaf  comes,  angle  with  me, 

Come  when  the  bee  hums  over  the  lea,  9 

Come  with  the  wild  flowers — 

Come  with  the  wild  showers — 
Come  when  the  singing  bird  calleth  for  thee! 

Then  to  the  stream  side,  gladly  we'll  hie. 
Where  the  grey  trout  glide  silently  by. 

Or  in  some  still  place 

Over  the  hill  face 
Hurrying  onward,  drop  the  light  fly. 

Then,  when  the  dew  falls,  homeward  we'll  speed 
To  our  own  loved  walls  down  on  the  mead. 
There,  by  the  bright  hearth. 
Holding  our  night  mirth. 
We'll  drink  to  sweet  friendship  in  need  and  in 
deed. 

Thomas  Tod  Stoddart.  '        -^  V  . 

Skating 

And  in  the  frosty  season,  when  the  sun 
Was  set,  and,  visible,  for  many  a  mile. 
The  cottage-windows  through  the  twilight  blazed, 
I  heeded  not  the  summons.     Happy  time 
It  was  indeed  for  all  of  us;  for  me  . 

I  207  j 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sports    It  was  a  time  of  rapture!     Clear  and  loud 
and      rpj^g  village  clock  tolled  six.     I  wheeled  about, 

Proud  and  exulting,  like  an  untired  horse 
•        That  cares  not  for  its  home. 

All  shod  with  steeL 
We  hissed  along  the  polished  ice,  in  games 
Confederate,  imitative  of  the  chase 
And  woodland  pleasures, — the  resounding  horn, 
The  pack  loud  bellowing,  and  the  hunted  hare. 
So  through  the  darkness  and  the  cold  we  flew, 
And  not  a  voice  was  idle. 

With  the  din 
Meanwhile  the  precipices  rang  aloud. 
The  leafless  trees  and  every  icy  crag 
Tinkled  like  iron ;  while  the  distant  hills 
Into  the  tumult  sent  an  alien  sound 
Of  melancholy,  not  unnoticed ;  while  the  stars 
Eastward  were  sparkling  clear,  and  in  the  west 
The  orange  sky  of  evening  died  away. 


Not  seldom  from  the  uproar  I  retired 
Into  a  silent  bay ;  or  sportively 
Glanced  sideways,  leaving  the  tumultuous  throng, 
To  cut  across  the  reflex  of  a  star, — 
Image,  that,  flying  still  before  me,  gleamed 
Upon  the  glassy  plain.     And  oftentimes, 
When  we  had  given  our  bodies  to  the  wind, 
And  all  the  shadow^'^  banks  on  either  side 

[208] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Came  sweeping  through  the  darkness,  spinning    SporU 

still  ""^ 

The  rapid  line  of  motion,  then  at  once 
Have  I,  reclining  back  upon  my  heels,  * 

Stopped  short ;  yet  still  the  solitary  cliffs 
Wheeled  bj'  mc,  even  as  if  the  earth  had  rolled 
With  visible  motion  her  diurnal  round. 
Behind  me  did  they  stretch  in  solemn  train, 
Feebler  and  feebler;  and  I  stood  and  watched 
Till  all  was  tranquil  as  a  summer  sea. 

William  Wordsworth. 
From  "  The  Prelude." 

r 

Reading 

We  get  no  good 
By  being  ungenerous,  even  to  a  book, 
And  calculating  profits    ...    so  much  help 
By  so  much  reading.     It  is  rather  when 
We  gloriously  forget  ourselves  and  plunge 
Soul-forward,  headlong,  into  a  book's  profound, 
Impassioned  for  its  beauty  and  salt  of  truth — 
'Tis  then  we  get  the  right  good  from  a  book. 

Elizabeth  B.  Browning. 
From  "  Aurora  Leigh." 


[909] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

ftports 
and         O^  First  Looking  Into  Chapman's  Homer 

Much  have  I  travelled  in  the  realms  of  gold, 
▼  And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen; 

Round  many  western  islands  have  I  been 
Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 
Oft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told 

That  decp-browed  Homer  ruled  as  his  demesne: 

Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 
Till  I  heard  Chapman  speak  out  loud  and  bold; 
Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 

When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken; 
Or  like  stout  Cortez,  when  with  eagle  eyes 

He  stared  at  the  Pacific — and  all  his  men 
liOoked  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise — 

Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 

John  Keats. 

r 

Music^s  Silver  Sound 

When  griping  grief  the  heart  doth  wound, 

And  doleful  dump  the  mind  oppress, 
Then  music,  with  her  silver  sound. 
With  speedy  help  doth  lend  redress. 

William  Shakespeare 
FTom  "  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

rsioi 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Sports 
The  Power  of  Music  and 

PdstviTtBS 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 

Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts,  w 

Fetching  mad  bounds,   bellowing  and  neighing 

loud. 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood ; 
If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound. 
Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears. 
You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest  gaze. 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music :  therefore  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones  and 

floods; 
Since  naught  so  stockish,  hard,  and  full  of  rage. 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature. 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself. 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds. 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils; 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus: 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 

William  Shakespeare. 
From  "The  Merchant  of  Venice." 

r 


[2111 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sports  Descend,  Ye  Nine 

Pastimes  I^^scend,  ye  Nine !  descend  and  sing ; 
tot       The  breathing  instruments  inspire, 
•         Wake  into  voice  each  silent  string, 
And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre! 
In  a  sadly  pleasing  strain. 
Let  the  warbling  lute  complain: 
Let  the  loud  trumpet  sound. 
Till  the  roofs  all  around 
The  shrill  echoes  rebound; 
"While  in  more  lengthen'd  notes  and  sVow, 
The  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organs  blow. 
Hark!  the  numbers  soft  and  clear 
Gently  steal   upon  the  ear; 
Now  louder,  and  yet  louder  rise, 
And  fill  with  spreading  sounds  the  skies: 
Exulting  in  triumph  now  swell  the  bold  notes, 
In  broken  air,  trembling,  the  wild  music  floats; 
Till,  by  degrees,  remote  and  small, 
The  strains  decay. 
And  melt  away, 
In  a  dying,  dying  fall. 
By  music,  minds  an  equal  temper  know. 
Nor  swell  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 
If  in  the  breast  tumultuous  joys  arise. 
Music  her  soft,  assuasive  voice  applies; 
Or,  when  the  soul  is  press'd  with  cares, 
Exalts  her  In  enlivening  airs. 

[  2.2  J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Warriors  she  fires  with  animated  sounds;  Sports 

Pours  balm  into  the  bleeding  lover's  wounds:         ^. 

Melancholy  lifts  her  head, 

Morpheus  rouses  from  his  bed,  T 

Sloth  unfolds  her  arms  and  wakes, 

Listening  Envy  drops  her  snakes; 
Intestine  war  no  more  our  passions  wage, 
And  giddy  factions  bear  away  their  rage. 

Alexander  Pope. 
From  "  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day." 


Old  Song 

'Tis  a  dull  sight 

To  see  the  year  dying. 
When  winter  winds 

Set  the  yellow  wood  sighing: 
Sighing,  O  sigliing! 

When  such  a  time  cometh 

I  do  retire 
Into  an  old  room 

Beside  a  bright  fire: 
O,  pile  a  bright  fire! 

And  there  I  sit 

Reading  old  things. 
Of  knights  and  lorn  damsels, 
While  the  wind  sings — 
O,  drearily  sings! 
[213] 


Pastimes 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sports  I  never  look  out 

«'«^  Nor  attend  to  the  blast; 

For  all  to  be  seen 

Is  the  leaves  falling  fast: 
Falling,  falling! 

But  close  at  the  hearth, 

Like  a  cricket,  sit  I 
Reading  of  summer 

And  chivalry — 
Gallant  chivalry ! 

•  •  •  • 

Then  the  clouds  part, 

Swallows  soaring  between; 

The  spring  is  alive. 

And  the  meadows  are  green! 

I  jump  up  like  mad. 

Break  the  old  pipe  in  twain, 

And  away  to  the  meadows, 
The  meadows  again ! 

Edward  Fitzgerald, 


The  Barefoot  Boy 

Blessings  on  thee,  little  man. 
Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan! 
With  thy  upturned  pantaloons. 
And  thy  merry  whistled  tunes ; 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

With  thy  red  lip,  redder  still  Sports 

Kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill ;  Pastimes 

With  the  sunshine  on  thy  face, 

Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace; 

From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy, — 

I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy! 

Prince  thou  art, — the  grown-up  man 

Only  is  republican. 

Let  the  million-doUared  ride ! 

Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side. 

Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy 

In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye, — 

Outward  sunshine,  inward  joy: 

Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy ! 

O  for  boyhood's  painless  play, 
Sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day, 
Hoalth  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules, 
Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools, 
Of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase, 
Of  the  wild-flower's  time  and  place. 
Flight  of  fowl  and  habitude 
Of  the  tenants  of  the  wood ; 
How  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell, 
How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell. 
And  the  ground-mole  sinks  his  well? 
How  the  robin  feeds  her  young, 
How  the  oriole's  nest  is  hung; 
[215] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sports  Where  the  whitest  hlies  blow, 

and  Where  the  freshest  berries  grow, 

Where  the  groundnut  trails  its  vine, 
T  Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine: 

Of  the  black  wasp's  cunning  way, 
Mason  of  his  walls  of  clay. 
And  the  architectural  plans 
Of  gray  hornet  artisans ! — 
For,  eschewing  books  and  tasks, 
Nature  answers  all  he  asks; 
Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks, 
Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks, 
Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy, — 
Blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy ! 

0  for  boyhood's  time  of  June, 
Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon, 
When  all  things  I  heard  or  saw. 
Me,  their  master,  waited  for. 

1  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees. 
Humming-birds  and  honey-bees; 
For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played. 
Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade; 
For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 
Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone; 
Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
Whispering  at  the  garden  wall, 
Talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall; 

[216] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Mine  the  sand-rimmed  pickerel  pond,  Sports 

Mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond,  Pastime^ 

Mine,  on  bending  orchard  trees, 

Apples  of  Hesperides! 

Still  as  my  horizon  grew. 

Larger  grew  my  riches  too; 

All  the  world  I  saw  or  knew 

Seemed  a  complex  Chinese  toy, 

Fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boyl 

0  for  festal  dainties  spread, 
Like  my  bowl  of  milk  and  bread, — 
Pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood, 
On  the  door-stone,  gray  and  rude! 
O'er  me  like  a  regal  tent. 
Cloudy  ribbed,  the  sunset  bent. 
Purple-curtained,  fringed  with  gold, 
Looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold ; 
While  for  music  came  the  play 
Of  the  pied  frogs'  orchestra ; 
And  to  light  the  noisy  choir. 
Lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire. 

1  was  monarch:  pomp  and  joy 
Waited  on  the  barefoot  boy ! 

Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man. 
Live  and  laugh  as  boyhood  can! 
Though  the  flinty  slopes  be  hard. 
Stubble-speared  the  new-mown  sward, 
[217] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sports  Every  morn  shall  lead  thee  through 

and  Fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew ; 

Pastimes  _,  -        p  ,^      i>    ^ 

Every  evening  irom  thy  leet 

?  Shall  the  cool  wind  kiss  the  heat: 

All  too  soon  these  feet  must  hide 

In  the  prison  cells  of  pride, 

Lose  the  freedom  of  the  sod, 

Like  a  colt's  for  work  be  shod, 

Made  to  tread  the  mills  of  toil, 

Up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil: 

Happy  if  their  track  be  found 

Never  on  forbidden  ground ; 

Happy  if  they  sink  not  in 

Quick  and  treacherous  sands  of  sin. 

Ah!  that  thou  couldst  know  thy  joy, 

Ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy ! 

John  Gkeenleaf  Whittier. 

r 

Leolin  and  Edith 
These  had  been  together  from  the  first, 
Leolin's  first  nurse  was,  five  years  after,  hers; 
So  much  the  boy  foreran :  but  when  his  date 
Doubled  her  own,  for  want  of  playmates  he 
•  ••... 

Had  tost  his  ball  and  flown  his  kite,  and  roll'd 
His  hoop  to  pleasure  Edith,  with  her  dipt 
Against  the  rush  of  the  air  in  the  prone  swing, 
Made  blossom-ball  or  daisy-chain,  arranged 

[  218  I 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Her  garden,  sow'd  her  name  and  kept  it  green    Sports 

In  living  letters,  told  her  fairy-tales^  """ 

Show'd  her  the  fairy  footings  on  the  grass, 

The  little  dells  of  cowslip,  fairy  palms,  9 

The  petty  marestail  forest,  fairy  pines, 

Or  from  the  tiny  pitted  target  blew 

What  looked  a  flight  of  fairy  arrows  aim'd 

All  at  one  mark,  all  hitting:  make-believes 

For  Edith  and  himself." 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 
From  "Aylmer^s  Field." 


Going  A-Nutting 

No  clouds  are  in  the  morning  sky, 

The  vapors  hug  the  stream, — 
Who  says  that  life  and  love  can  die 

In  all  this  northern  gleam? 
At  every  turn  the  maples  burn. 

The  quail  is  whistling  free, 
The  partridge  whirs,  and  the  frosted  hnT§ 

Are  dropping  for  you  and  me. 
Ho !  hilly  ho !  heigh  O ! 
Hilly  ho! 
In  the  clear  October  morning*. 


'&• 


Along  our  path  the  woods  are  bold. 
And  glow  with  ripe  desire; 
[219] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sports  The  yellow  chestnut  showers  its  gold, 

and  rpj^g  sumachs  spread  their  fire ; 

The  breezes  feel  as  crisp  as  steel, 
*  The  buckwheat  tops  are  red: 

Then  down  the  lane,  love,  scurry  again, 
And  over  the  stubble  tread! 
Ho!  hilly  ho!  heigh  O! 
Hilly  ho! 
In  the  clear  October  morning. 

Edmund  Claeence  Stedman. 

r 

Whittling 

The  Yankee  boy,  before  he's  sent  to  school, 

Well  knows  the  mysteries  of  that  magic  tool. 

The  pocket-knife.     To  that  his  wistful  eye 

Turns,  while  he  hears  his  mother's  lullaby; 

His  hoarded  cents  he  gladly  gives  to  get  it, 

Then  leaves  no  stone  unturned  till  he  can  whet  it: 

And  in  the  education  of  the  lad 

No  little  part  that  implement  hath  had. 

His  pocket-knife  to  the  young  whittler  brings 

A  growing  knowledge  of  material  things. 

Projectiles,  music,  and  the  sculptor's  art, 
His  chestnut  whistle  and  his  shingle  cart, 
His  elder  pop-gun,  with  its  hickory  rod, 
lis  sharp  explosion  and  rebounding  wad* 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

His  corn-stalk  fiddle,  and  the  deeper  tone  Sports 

That  murmurs   from  his  pumpkin-stalk   trom-       ". 

,  Pastimei 

bone, 

Conspire  to  teach  the  boy.     To  these  succeed  ▼ 

His  bow,  his  arrow  of  a  feathered  reed, 

His  windmill,  raised  the  passing  breeze  to  win, 

His  water-wheel,  that  turns  upon  a  pin. 

Or,  if  his  father  lives  upon  the  shore, 

You'll  see  his  ship,  "  beam  ends  upon  the  floor,'* 

Full   rigged,   with   raking   masts,   and   timbers 

staunch. 
And  waiting,  near  the  wash-tub,  for  a  launch. 
Thus,  by  his  genius  and  his  jack-knife  driven 
Ere  long  he'll  solve  you  any  problem  given; 
Make  any  gimcrack,  musical  or  mute, 
A  plough,  a  couch,  an  organ,  or  a  flute; 
Make  you  a  locomotive  or  a  clock, 
Cut  a  canal,  or  build  a  floating-dock. 
Or  lead  forth  beauty  from  a  marble  block ; — 
Make  anything,  in  short,  for  sea  or  shore, 
From  a  child's  rattle  to  a  seventy-four; — 
Make  it,  said  I? — Ay,  when  he  undertakes  it, 
He'll  make  the  thing  and  the  machine  that  makes 

it. 

And  when  the  thing  is  made, — whether  it  be 
To  move  on  earth,  in  air,  or  on  the  sea ; 
Whether  on  water,  o'er  the  waves  to  glide, 
Or,  upon  land  to  roll,  revolve,  or  slide ; 

[221] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sports    Whether  to  whirl  or  jar,  to  strike  or  ring, 
and      Whether  it  be  a  piston  or  a  spring, 

Wheel,  pulley,  tube  sonorous,  wood  or  brass, 
The  thing  designed  shall  surely  come  to  pass; 
For,  when  his  hand's  upon  it,  you  may  know 
That  there's  go  in  it,  and  he'll  make  it  go. 

John  Pierpont, 

r 

Hunting  Song 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day ; 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here 

With  hawk  and  horse  and  hunting-spear! 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling. 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling. 

Merrily,  merrily  mingle  they, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming, 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming. 

And  foresters  have  busy  been 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  greenwood  haste  away ; 
[222] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

We  can  show  you  where  he  lies,  ifpotis 

Fleet  of  foot  and  tall  of  size ;  '^"f^ 

We  can  show  the  marks  he  made 

When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  f ray'd ; 

You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay ; 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 


Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay! 
Tell  them  youth  and  mirth  and  glee 
Run  a  course  as  well  as  we; 
Time,  stern  huntsman !  who  can  balk. 
Stanch  as  hound  and  fleet  as  hawk; 
Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day. 
Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay ! 

Sir  Walteh  Scott. 


to. 


The  Hunter^s  Song 

Rise !  Sleep  no  more !     '  Tis  a  noble  morn ! 
The  dews  hang  thick  on  the  fringed  thorn. 
And  the  frost  shrinks  back  like  a  beaten  hound. 
Under  the  steaming,  steaming  ground. 
Behold  where  the  billowy  clouds  flow  by. 
And  leave  us  alone  in  the  clear  gray  sky! 
Our  horses  are  ready  and  steady, — So,  ho ! 
I'm  gone  like  a  dart  from  the  Tartar's  bow. 

[223J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Shorts        Hark,  hark! — who  calleth  the  maiden  Morn 

find  From  her  sleep  in  the  woods  and  the  stubhle 

Pasti7nes  „ 

corn? 

T  The  horn — the  horn! 

The  merry  sweet  ring  of  the  hunter's  horn! 

Now  through  the  copse  where  the  fox  is  found 
And  over  the  stream  at  a  mighty  bound, 
And  over  the  high  lands  and  over  the  low, 
O'er  furrows,  o'er  meadows  the  hunters  go! 
Away !  as  the  hawk  flies  full  at  his  prey 
So  flieth  the  hunter, — away,  away ! 
From  the  burst  at  the  corn  till  set  of  sun. 
When  the  red  fox  dies,  and  the  day  is  done ! 

Hark,   hark! — What   sound   on   the   wind  is 
borne? 

*Tis  the  conquering'  voice  of  the  hunter's  horn. 
The  horn, — the  horn! 

The  merry  bold  voice  of  the  hunter's  horn! 

Sound,  sound  the  horn !     To  the  hunter  good 
What's  the  gully  deep,  or  the  roaring  flood? 
Right  over  he  bounds,  as  the  wild  stag  boundsj 
At  the  heels  of  liis  swift,  sure,  silent  hounds. 
O  what  delight  can  a  mortal  lack 
When  he  once  is  firm  on  his  horse's  back. 
With  his  stirrups  short  and  his  snaffle  strong, 
And  the  blast   of  the  horn   for   his   morning 


song! 


[284,] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Hark,  hark!    Nozv  liome!  and  dream  till  morn    Sports 
Of  the  bold  sweet  sound  of  the  hunter'' s  horn!        "  . 

The  hor7i,  the  horn! 
Oh,  the  sound  of  all  sounds  is  the  hunter^s  horn! 

Barry  Cornwall. 
(Bryan  Waller  Procter.) 

r 

The  Blood  Horse 

Gamarra  is  a  dainty  steed, 

Strong,  black,  and  of  a  noble  breed, 

Full  of  fire,  and  full  of  bone, 

With  all  his  line  of  fathers  known; 

Fine  his  nose,  his  nostrils  thin. 

But  blown  abroad  by  the  pride  within! 

His  mane  is  like  a  river  flowing, 

And  his  eyes  like  embers  glowing 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

And  his  pace  as  swift  as  light. 

Look — how  'round  his  straining  throat 
Grace  and  shifting  beauty  float; 
Sinewy  strength  is  in  his  reins. 
And  the  red  blood  gallops  through  his  veins| 
Richer,  redder,  never  ran 
Through  the  boasting  heart  of  man. 
He  can  trace  his  lineage  higher 
Than  the  Bourbon  dare  aspire,— ^ 

[225] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

jports        Douglas,  Guzman,  or  the  Guelph, 
aiul  Or  O'Brien's  blood  itself! 


Pustimes 


He,  who  hath  no  peer,  was  born, 

Here,  upon  a  red  ]\Iarch  morn ; 

But  his  famous  fathers  dead 

Were  Arabs  all,  and  Arab  bred, 

And  the  last  of  that  great  line 

Trod  like  one  of  a  race  divine ! 

And  yet, — he  was  but  friend  to  one. 

Who  fed  him  at  the  set  of  sun. 

By  some  lone  fountain  fruiged  with  green: 

With  him,  a  roving  Bedouin, 

He  lived  (none  else  would  he  obey 

Tlirough  all  the  hot  Arabian  day), — 

And  died  untamed  upon  the  sands 

Where  Balkh  amidst  the  desert  stands ! 

Barry  Cornwall,. 
(Bryan  Waller  Procter.) 


The  Northern  Seas 

Up !  up !  let  us  a  voyage  take ; 

Why  sit  we  here  at  ease? 
Find  us  a  vessel  tight  and  snug. 

Bound  for  the  Northern  Seas. 

I  long  to  see  the  Northern  Lights, 
With  their  rushing  splendors,  fly, 
[226] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Like  living  things,  with  flaming  wings.  Sports 

ana 
Pastimes 


Wide  o'er  the  wondrous  sky. 


I  long  to  see  those  icebergs  vast,  ^ 

With  heads  all  crowned  with  snow ; 

Whose  green  roots  sleep  in  the  awful  deep, 
Two  hundred  fathoms  low. 

I  long  to  hear  the  thundering  crash 

Of  their  terrific  fall ; 
And  the  echoes  from  a  thousand  cliffs, 

Like  lonely  voices  call. 

There  shall  we  see  the  fierce  white  bear, 

The  sleepy  seals  aground, 
And  the  spouting  whales  that  to  and  fro 

Sail  with  a  dreary  sound. 

There  may  we  tread  on  depths  of  ice, 

That  the  hairy  mammoth  hide; 
Perfect  as  when,  in  times  of  old. 

The  mighty  creature  died. 

And  while  the  unsetting  sun  shines  on 
Through  the  still  heaven's  deep  blue. 

We'll  traverse  the  azure  waves,  the  herdf 
Of  the  dread  sea-horse  to  view. 

We'll  pass  the  shores  of  solemn  pine, 
Where  wolves  and  black  bears  prowlj, 

And  away  to  the  rocky  isles  of  mi»t 
To  rouse  the  northern  fowl. 
£237^ 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

SportM  Up  there  shall  start  ten  thousand  wings, 

jy  °^".  With  a  rushing,  whistling  din ; 

Up  shall  the  auk  and  fulmar  start, — • 
▼  All  but  the  fat  penguin. 

And  there,  in  the  wastes  of  the  silent  sky. 
With  the  silent  earth  below, 

We  shall  see  far  off  to  his  lonely  rock 
The  lonely  eagle  go. 

Then  softly,  softly  will  we  tread 

By  island  streams,  to  see 
Where  the  pelican  of  the  silent  North 

Sits  there  all  silently. 

William  Howitt. 

r 

The  Needle 

The  gay  belles  of  fashion  may  boast  of  excelling 

In  waltz  or  cotillion,  at  whist  or  quadrille ; 
And  seek  admiration  by  vauntingly  telling 

Of  drawing,  and  painting,  and  musical  skilly 
But  give  me  the  fair  one,  in  country  or  city. 

Whose  home  and  its  duties  are  dear  to  her 
heart, 
Who  cheerfully  warbles  some  rustical  ditty, 

While  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art: 
The  bright  little  needle — the  swift-flying  needle,! 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

If  Love  have  a  potent,  a  magical  token,  Sport? 

A  talisman,  ever  resistless  and  true —  Pastimes 

A  charm  that  is  never  evaded  or  broken, 

A  witchery  certain  the  heart  to  subdue — 


'T  is  this — and  his  armory  never  has  furnished 
So  keen  and  unerring,  or  polished  a  dart; 

Let  Beauty  direct  it,  so  pointed  and  burnished. 
And,  oh !  it  is  certain  of  touching  the  heart : 

The  bright  little  needle — the  swift -flying  needle. 
The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

Be  wise,  then,  ye  maidens,  nor  seek  admiration 
By   dressing   for   conquest,    and   flirting   with 
all; 
|You  never,  whate'er  be  your  fortune  or  station, 
j    Appear  half  so  lovely  at  rout  or  at  ball, 
jAs  gayly  convened  at  a  work-covered  table, 
I    Each  cheerfully  active  and  playing  her  part. 
Beguiling  the  task  with  a  song  or  a  fable, 
j    And  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art: 
The  bright  little  needle — the  swift -flying  needle 
The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

Samuel  Woodworth. 


r 


[229J 


INTERLEAVES 

? 
A  Garden  of  Girls 

Znter  a  'procession  of  cliarm'mg  girls;  wee  ones  like  NiJco- 
lina  and  Jessie,  others,  like  Peggy,  just  bordering  on 
their  teens.  Some  are  so  saintly  xve  can  almost  see  the 
halos  above  their  lovely  heads — like  Mrs.  Browning^s 
human  angel  in  the  first  poem,  or  like  Shakespeare*s 
Silvia,  who  excels  each  mortal  thing;  others  are  just 
happy  children,  like  Little  Bell. 

The  poets,  as  you  will  see,  have  delighted  to  paint  the 
beauties  of  this  rosebud  garden.  There  is  sweet  Phyl- 
lis, the  little  dairymaid,  whose  hand  seemed  milk,  in 
milk  it  was  so  white;  Annie  Laurie,  with  her  brow  like 
the  snowdrift  and  her  voice  like  wind  in  summer  sigh- 
ing; merry  Margaret,  like  midsummer  flower;  but  you 
will  note  that  in  all  of  them  sunny  hair  and  dewy  eyes 
are  not  zchere  the  beauty  lies.  "  Love  deep  and  kind  " 
leaves  good  gifts  behind,  with  Bell  and  with  Mally, 
too,  rcho  is  rare  and  fair  and  every  way  complete,  and 
who  is  also  modest  and  discreet.  On  the  other  hand. 
Burns  does  not  describe  Nannie  by  so  much  as  a  single 
word,  but  it  is  easy  to  conjure  up  her  picture,  so  elo- 
quently he  paints  the  dreariness  of  the  world  "  when 
Nannie's  awa\" 

Will  you  not  add  to  this  garden  of  girls  others  whom 
you  would  like  to  see  blooming  beside  them?  Remem- 
ber, it  is  a  rosebud  garden,  and  the  new-comers  must  be 
not  only  bea^itiful,  but  sweet  and  fragrant  with  pretty, 
womanly  virt^ies. 

"  She  walks — the  lady  of  my  delight 

A  shepherdess  of  sheep. 
Her  flocks  are  thoughts.     She  keeps  them  white  ; 

She  guards  them  from  the  steep. 
She  feeds  them  on  the  fragrant  height. 

And  folds  them  in  for  si..ej^. 


vm 

A  GARDEN    OF   GIRi;- 

¥      '€ 
'€ 

A  PojiraH 
"  One  Name  is  Elizabeth.  "—  Jcnsojt. 

X  WILL  paint  her  as  I  see  her: 
Ten  times  have  the  lilies  blown, 
Since  she  looked  upon  the  sun. 

And  her  face  is  lily-clear — 
Lilj-shaped,  and  drooped  in  duty 
To  the  law  of  its  own  beauty. 

Oval  cheeks  encolored  faintly, 
Which  a  trail  of  golden  hair 
Keeps  from  fading  off  to  air: 

And  a  forehead  fair  and  saintly, 
Which  two  blue  eyes  undershine, 
Like  meek  prayers  before  a  shrine. 

Face  and  figure  of  a  child, — 
Though  too  calm,  you  think,  and  tender. 
For  the  childhood  you  would  lend  her. 
[2311 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

i  Garden  Yet  child-simple,  undefiled, 

1^ Girls  Frank,  obedient, — waiting  still 

^  On  the  turnings  of  your  v/ill. 

Moving  light,  as  all  young  things—* 
As  young  birds,  or  early  wheat 
When  the  wind  blows  over  it. 

Only  free  from  flutterings 

Of  loud  mirth  that  scorneth  measure—* 

Taking  love  for  her  chief  pleasure: 

Choosing  pleasures  (for  the  rest) 
Which  come  softly — ^just  as  she, 
When  she  nestles  at  your  knee. 

Quiet  talk  she  liketh  best. 
In  a  bower  of  gentle  looks, — 
Watering  flowers,  or  reading  books. 

And  her  voice,  it  murmurs  lowly, 
As  a  silver  stream  may  run, 
Wliich  yet  feels,  you  feel,  the  sun. 

And  her  smile,  it  seems  half  holy. 
As  if  drawn  from  thoughts  more  fair 
Than  our  common  jestings  are. 

And  if  any  poet  knew  her, 
He  would  sing  of  her  with  falls 
Used  in  lovely  madrigals. 

[  232  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  if  any  painter  drew  her,  A  Garden 

He  would  paint  her  unaware  ^J  Girls 

With  a  halo  round  her  hair.  JT 

And  if  reader  read  the  poem. 

He  would  whisper — "  You  have  done  a 

Consecrated  little  Una !  " 

And  a  dreamer  (did  you  show  him 
That  same  picture)  would  exclaim, 
"  'Tis  my  angel,  with  a  name !  " 

And  a  stranger, — when  he  sees  her 
In  the  street  even — smileth  stilly, 
Just  as  you  would  at  a  lily. 

And  all  voices  that  address  her, 
Soften,  sleeken  every  word. 
As  if  speaking  to  a  bird. 

And  all  fancies  yearn  to  cover 
The  hard  earth  whereon  she  passes. 
With  the  thy  my  scented  grasses. 

And  all  hearts  do  pray,  "  God  love  her !  '* 
Ay,  and  always,  in  good  sooth, 
We  may  all  be  sure  he  doth. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 

r 

[233] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Garden  Little  Bell 

of  Girls 
'    ,  Piped  the  blackbird  on  the  beechwood  spray: 

•         "  Pretty  inaid,  slow  wandering  this  way, 
What's  your  name?  "  quoth  he — 
"  What's  your  name?    Oh,  stop  and  straight  un- 
fold. 
Pretty  maid  with  showery  curls  of  gold," — 
'•  Little  Bell,"  said  she. 

Little  Bell  sat  down  beneath  the  rocks — 
Tossed  aside  her  gleaming  golden  locks — 

"  Bonny  bird,"  quoth  she, 
"  Sing  me  your  best  song  before  I  go." 
"  Here's  the  very  finest  song  I  know, 

Little  Bell,"  said  he. 

And  the  blackbird  piped ;  you  never  heard 
Half  so  gay  a  song  from  any  bird ; — 

Full  of  quips  and  wiles. 
Now  so  round  and  rich,  now  soft  and  slow. 
All  for  love  of  that  sweet  face  below, 

Dimpled  o'er  with  smiles. 

And  the  while  the  bonny  bird  did  pour 
His  full  heart  out  freely  o'er  and  o'er, 

'Neath  the  morning  skies. 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below, 
All  the  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow. 
And  shine  forth  in  happy  overflow 

From  the  blue,  bright  eyes. 
[2341 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Down  the  dell  she  tripped  ;  and  through  the  glade  A  Garden 
Peeped  the  squirrel  from  the  hazel  shade,  "J  "*"* 

And  from  ou':  the  tree  ^ 

Swung  and  leaped  and  frolicked,  void  of  fear, 
While  bold  blackbird  piped,  that  all  might  hear, 

*'  Little  Bell !  "  piped  he. 

Little  Bell  sat  down  amid  the  fern : 

"  Squirrel,  squirrel,  to  your  task  return ; 

Bring  me  nuts !  "  quoth  she. 
Up,  away,  the  frisky  squirrel  hies. 
Golden  wood  lights  glancing  in  his  eyes ; 

And  adown  the  tree. 
Great  ripe  nuts,  kissed  brown  by  July  sun, 
In  the  little  lap  drop,  one  by  one: 
Hark,  how  blackbird  pipes  to  see  the  fun! 

"  Happy  Bell !  "  pipes  he. 

Little  Bell  looked  up  and  down  the  glade: 
"  Squirrel,  squirrel,  if  3'^ou're  not  afraid, 

Come  and  share  with  me !  " 
Down  came  squirrel,  eager  for  his  fare, 
'  Down  came  bonny  blackbird,  I  declare. 
Little  Bell  gave  each  his  honest  share, 

Ah  the  merry  three! 

And  the  while  these  frolic  playmates  twain 
Piped  and  frisked  from  bough  to  bough  againj 
'Neath  the  morning  skies, 
[235] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Garden  In  the  little  childish  heart  below, 
oj  hiris  ji^ii  ^]^g  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow, 
^       And  shine  out  in  happy  overflow, 
From  her  blue,  bright  eyes. 

By  her  snow-white  cot  at  close  of  day, 
Knelt  sweet  Bell,  with  folded  palms  to  pray : 

Very  calm  and  clear 
Rose  the  praying  voice  to  where,  unseen, 
In  blue  heaven,  an  angel  shape  serene 

Paused  awhile  to  hear. 

*'  What  good  child  is  this,"  the  angel  said, 
*'  That,  with  happy  heart,  beside  her  bed 

Prays  so  lovingly  ?  " 
Low  and  soft,  oh!  very  low  and  soft, 
Crooned  the  blackbird  in  the  orchard  croft, 

"  Bell,  dear  Bell !  "  crooned  he. 

"  Whom  God's  creatures  love,"  the  angel  fair 
Murmured,  "  God  doth  bless  with  angels'  care; 

Child,  thy  bed  shall  be 
Folded  safe  from  harm.     Love,  deep  and  kind. 
Shall  watch  around,  and  leave  good  gifts  beliind, 

Little  Bell,  for  thee." 

Thomas  Westwood. 


[236  3 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

A   Child  of  Twelve  A  Garden 

A  child  most  infantine 
Yet  wandering  far  beyond  that  innocent  age  » 

In  all  but  its  sweet  looks  and  mien  divine. 

•  •  •  •  • 

She  moved  upon  this  earth  a  shape  of  brightness, 
A  power,  that  from  its  objects  scarcely  drew 
One  impulse  of  her  being — in  her  lightness 
Most  like  some  radiant  cloud  of  morning  dew, 
Which  wanders  through  the  waste  air's  pathless 

blue, 
To  nourish  some  far  desert;  she  did  seem 
Beside  me,  gathering  beauty  as  she  grew. 
Like  the  bright  shade  of  some  immortal  dream 
Which  walks,  when  tempest  sleeps,  the  wave  of 

life's  dark  stream. 
As  mine  own  shadow  was  this  child  to  me. 

•  •  •  •  • 

This  playmate  sweet. 
This  child  of  twelve  years  old. 

Peucy  Bysshe  Shelley. 
From  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam." 

r 


rssT] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Garden  Chloe 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
When  all  the  flowers  were  fresh  and  gay, 
One  morning  by  the  break  of  day, 
The  youthful  charming  Chloe 
From  peaceful  slumbers  she  arose, 
Girt  on  her  mantle  and  her  hose, 
And  o'er  the  flowery  mead  she  goes, 
The  youthful  charming  Chloe. 
Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn, 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 
Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn. 
The  youthful  charming  Chloe. 

The  fcather'd  people  you  might  see, 
Perch'd  all  around  on  every  tree. 
In  notes  of  sweetest  melody 

They  hail  the  charming  Chloe; 
Till  painting  gay  the  eastern  skies, 
The  glorious  sun  began  to  rise, 
Out-rivall'd  by  the  radiant  eyes 
Of  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 
Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn, 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 
Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn. 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 
Robert  Bukns. 


^238 


m 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

O  Mally's  Meek,  Malhfs  Sweet  A  Garden 

As  I  was  walking  up  the  street, 

A  barefit  maid  I  chanced  to  meet;  ? 

But  O  the  road  was  very  hard 

For  that  fair  maiden's  tender  feet. 
O  jNIally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet, 
Mally's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally's  rare,  Mally's  fair, 
Mally's  every  way  complete. 

It  were  more  meet  that  those  fine  feet 

Were  weel  laced  up  in  silken  shoon. 
And  'twere  more  fit  that  she  should  sit 

Within  3'on  chariot  gilt  aboon. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare, 

Comes  trinkling  down  her  swan-white  neck, 
And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies. 
Would  keep  a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck. 
O  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet, 
Mally's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally's  rare,  Mally's  fair, 
Mally's  every  way  complete. 

Robert  Burns. 


[239] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

4  Ganrdtm  Who  Is  Silvia? 

or  Girls  Who  is  Silvia?     What  is  she, 

That  all  our  swains  commend  ner? 
Holy,  fair,  and  wise  is  she; 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her. 
That  she  might  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness: 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair. 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness ; 
And,  being  helped,  inhabits  there 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 

That  Silvia  is  excelling; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling; 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

William  Shakespeare. 
From  "  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona." 


To  Mistress  Margaret  Hussey 

Merry  Margaret 
As  midsummer  flower — 
Gentle  as  falcon. 
Or  hawk  of  the  tower ; 
With  solace  and  gladness. 
Much  mirth  and  no  madness, 
[240] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

All  good  and  no  badness;  A  Garden 

o     •  1  of  Girls 

bo  joyously,  •' 

So  maidenly,  ▼ 

So  womanly 

Her  demeaning, — 

In  everything 

Far,  far  passing 

That  I  can  indite 

Or  suflBce  to  write. 

Of  merry  Margaret, 

As  midsummer  flower, 

Gentle  as  falcon 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower; 

As  patient  and  as  still. 

And  as  full  of  good-will. 

As  fair  Isiphil, 

Coliander. 

Sweet  Pomander, 

Good  Cassander; 

Steadfast  of  thought. 

Well  made,  well  wrought; 

Far  may  be  sought 

Ere  you  can  find 

So  courteous,  so  kind. 

As  merry  Margaret, 

This  midsummer  flower — 

Gentle  as  falcon 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower. 

John  Skelton. 

[241] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

/L  Garde*'  Ruth 

of  Girl.  .  .11 

She  stood  breast-liigh  amid  the  com, 

Clasp'd  by   the  golden  light  of  morn, 

Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun, 

Who  many  a  glowing  kiss  had  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  autumn  flush. 
Deeply  ripened; — such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  bom, 
Like  red  poppies  grown  with  com. 

Round  her  eyes  her  tresses  fell, 
Which  were  blackest  none  could  tell, 
But  long  lashes  veil'd  a  light 
That  had  else  been  all  too  bright. 

And  her  hat,  with  shady  brim. 
Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim ; — 
Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stooks. 
Praising  God  with  sweetest  looks. 

"  Sure,"  I  said,  "  Heav'n  did  not  mean 
Where  I  reap  thou  shouldst  but  glean; 
Lay  thy  sheaf  adown  and  come. 
Share  my  harvest  and  my  home." 

Thomas  Hood. 


[942] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

My  Peggy  IS  a  young  thing,  ofGir's 

Jxist  entered  in  her  teens,  ^ 

Fair  as  the  day,  and  sweet  as  May, 

Fair  as  the  day,  and  alwaj^s  gay. 

My  Peggy  is  a  young  thing. 
And  I'm  not  very  auld, 

Yet  well  I  like  to  meet  her  at 
The  wauking  of  the  fauld. 

•  •  •  •  • 

My  Peggy  sings  sae  saftly, 

When  on  my  pipe  I  play ; 

By  a'  the  rest  it  is  confest, 

By  a'  the  rest,  that  she  sings  best. 

My  Peggy  sings  sae  saftly. 

And  in  her  sangs  are  tauld, 
With  innocence,  the  wale  of  sense, 

At  wauking  of  the  fauld. 

Allan  Ramsat. 
From  "  The  Gentle  Shepherd." 

f 

Annie  Laurie 

Maxwelton  braes  are  bonnie 
Where  early  fa's  the  dew. 
And  it's  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true, — 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true, 
[243  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

J  Garden  Which  ne'er  forgot  will  be; 

Oj  Girls  ^j^j  foj.  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

^  I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Her  brow  is  like  the  snawdrift. 
Her  throat  is  like  the  swan, 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on, — • 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on ; 
And  dark  blue  is  her  e'e; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lying 
Is  the  fa'  o'  her  fairy  feet; 
Like  the  winds  in  summer  sighing, 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet, — 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet ; 
And  she's  a'  the  world  to  me; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

William  Douglas  of  Fingland. 


IfMj 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Lucy  A  Garden 

of  Girls 
Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower ; 

Then  Nature  said,  "A  lovelier  flower 

On  earth  was  never  sown : 

This  child  I  to  myself  will  take ; 

She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 

A  lady  of  my  own. 

*'  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 

Both  law  and  impulse:  and  with  me 

The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 

In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 

Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 

That,  wild  with  glee,  across  the  lawn, 

Or  up  the  mountain  springs ; 

And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 

And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 

Of  mute,  insensate  things. 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her ;  for  her  the  willow  bend ; 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
E'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mold  the  maiden's  form 
By  silent  sympathy. 
[2451 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

d  Garden  "  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 

^  In  many  a  secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

"  And  vital  feelings  of  delight 

Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell ; 

Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 

While  she  and  I  together  live 

Here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus  Nature  spake — the  work  was  done — 

How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run ! 

She  died,  and  left  to  me 

This  heath,  this  calm  and  quiet  scene; 

The  memory  of  what  has  been, 

And  nevermore  will  be. 

William  Wordsworth. 

r 

Jessie 

Jessie  is  both  young  and  fair. 
Dewy  eyes  and  sunny  hair; 
Sunny  hair  and  dewy  eyes 
Are  not  where  her  beauty  lies. 
[  246  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Jessie  is  both  kind  and  true,  A  Garden 

Heart  of  gold  and  will  of  yew ;  oJ'GirU 
Will  of  yew  and  heart,  of  gold —  ^ 

Still  her  charms  are  scarcely  told. 

If  she  yet  remain  unsung, 
Pretty,  constant,  docile,  young. 
What  remains  not  here  compiled.'' 
Jessie  is  a  little  child ! 

Bret  Haete. 

r 

Olivia 

She  gamboll'd  on  the  greens 

A  baby-germ,  to  when 
The  maiden  blossoms  of  her  teens 

Could  number  five  from  ten. 

I  swear,  by  leaf,  and  wind,  and  rain— ~ 

And  hear  me  with  thine  ears — 
That  tho'  I  circle  in  the  grain 

Five  hundred  rings  of  years. 

Yet,  since  I  first  could  cast  a  shade, 

Did  never  creature  pass 
So  slightly,  musically  made, 

So  light  upon  the  grass. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Then  ran  she,  gamesome  as  the  colt. 
And  livelier  than  a  lark 
[247] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Garden  She  sent  her  voice  thro'  all  the  holt 

oj  Girli  Before  her,  and  the  park. 


r 


A  light  wind  chased  her  on  the  wing. 
And  iii  the  chase  grew  wild, 

As  close  as  might  be  would  he  cling 
About  the  darling  child. 

But  light  as  any  wind  that  blows, 

So  fleetly  did  she  stir. 
The  flower  she  touch'd  on,  dipt  and  rose, 
And  turned  to  look  at  her. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 
From  "  The  Talking  Oak." 


Nikolina 

O  tell  me,  little  children,  have  you  seen  her — 
The  tiny  maid  from  Norway,  Nikolina? 
O,  her  eyes  are  blue  as  comflow'rs  mid  the  com, 
And  her  cheeks  are  rosy  red  as  skies  of  morn! 

Nikolina!  swift  she  turns  if  any  call  her. 

As  she  stands  among  the  poppies,  hardly  taller. 

Breaking  off"  their  scarlet  cups  for  you. 

With  spikes  of  slender  larkspur,  burning  blue. 

In  her  little  garden  many  a  flower  is  growing — • 
Red,  gold,  and  purple  in  the  soft  wind  blowing 

[  248  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


But  the  child  that  stands  amid  the  blossoms  gay  A  Garden 
Is  sweeter,  quainter,  brighter  e'en  than  they.  JOirls 

Celia  Thaxter.  ^ 


The  Solitary  Reaper 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field. 
Yon  solitary  Highland  Lass ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain; 
O  listen !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing:  with  the  sound. 


*& 


No  nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travelers  in  some  shady  haunt, 
Among  Arabian  sands; 
A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard, 
In  springtime  from  the  cuckoo  bird. 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings.'' — 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off"  things, 
And  battles  long  ago: 
t2i9] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

a  Garden  Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

fGirU  Familiar  matter  of  to-day? 

y  Some  natural  sorrow,  loss  or  pain, 

That  has  been,  and  may  be  again? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work, 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending; — 
I  listened,  motionless  and  still; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill. 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore. 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

William  Wordsworth. 

r 

Helena  and  Hermia 

We,  Hermia,      .... 

Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower^ 
Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion, 
Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key ; 
As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds 
Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together, 
Like  to  a    ouble  cherry,  seeming  parted. 
But  yet  a  union  in  partition. 
Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem; 
So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart, 

[250] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry  A  Oardm 

Due  but  to  one,  and  crowned  with  one  crest.  ^J  'juis 

William  Shakespeake,  ^ 

f'rom  "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.'* 

r 

PhijUis 

In  petticoat  of  green, 
Her  hair  about  her  eyne, 
Phyllis  beneath  an  oak 
Sat  milking  her  fair  flock ; 
'^longst  that  sweet-strained  moisture,  rare  de- 
light, 
!fcr  iiand  seemed  milk,  in  milk  it  was  so  white. 

William  Deummond. 

r 

So  Sweet  Is  She 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow, 

Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it? 
Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the  snoWj, 

Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it? 
Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver? 

Or  swan's  down  ever? 
Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  of  the  brier? 

Or  the  nard  i'  the  fire? 
[251  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Garden      Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee? 
of  Girls       Oh,  so  white!  oh,  so  soft!  oh,  so  sweet,  is  shel 
^  Ben  JoNSOJir, 

From  "  The  Triumph  of  Charis." 


I  Love  My  Jean 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best ; 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row, 

And  monie  a  hill  between; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  rfowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air: 
There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green ; 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

Robert  Burns. 


r 


[€52  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

My  Nannie's  Azva'  AGardcn 

of  Giris 
Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  nature  arrays,    '    ^ 

An'  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes,        ' 

\  While  birds  warble  welcome  in  ilka  green  shaw ; 

But  to  me  it's  delightless — my  Nannie's  awa'. 

The  snaw-drap  an'  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn, 
An'  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn ; 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw, 
They  mind  me  o'  Nannie — an'  Nannie's  awa'. 

Thou  lav'rock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  of  the 

lawn, 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  gray -breaking  dawn, 
An'  thou  mellow  mavis  that  hails  the  night-fa'j 
Give  over  for  pity — my  Nannie's  awa*. 

Come,  autumn,  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  an'  gray. 
An'  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay ; 
The  dark,  dreary  winter,  an'  wild-driving  snaWj 
Alane  can  delight  me — now  Nannie's  awa'. 

Robert  Buens. 


rs!53i 


INTERLEAVES 


The  World  of  Waters 

The  sea  lias  the  sun  for  a  harper."  She  has  aho  among 
her  myriad  "worshippers  Sreinburne,  the  poet-harpist, 
zcho  sweeps  all  the  strings  of  his  noble  instrument  in  her 
praise. 

There  can  be  no  worthier  introduction  to  a  group  of 
sea-poems  than  lines  "  all  gold  seven  times  refined,"  se- 
lected almost  at  random  from  a  great  poet  whom  you 
will  be  glad  to  read  later  on. 

"  Green  earth  has  her  sons  and  her  daughters. 
And  these  have  the !r  guerdons ;  but  we 
Are  the  whid's  and  the  suns  and  the  waters. 
Elect  of  the  sea." 

"  She  is  pure  as  the  wind  and  the  sun. 

And  her  sweetness  endureth  forever.''^ 

"  For  the  wind,  with  his  wings  half  open,  at  pause 
in  the  sky,  neither  fettered  nor  free. 
Leans  waveward  and  flutters  the  ripple  to  laughter  1 " 

"  But  for  hours  upon  hours 

As  a  thrall  she  remains 
Spell-bound  as  with  flmoers 

And  content  in  their  chains. 
And  her  loud  steeds  fret  not,  and  lift  not  a  loch 
of  their  deep  white  manes." 

"  Ayid  all  the  rippling  green  grew  royal  gold 
Between  him  and  the  far  suns  rising  rim." 

'*  Where  the  horn  of  the  headland  is  sharper 
And  her  green  floor  glitters  with  fire. 
The  sea  luis  the  sun  for  a  harper, 
llie  sun  lias  the  sea  for  a  lyre." 

*'  The  waves  are  a  pavement  of  amber. 
By  the  feet  of  the  sea-winds  trod. 
To  receive  in  a  god's  presence-chamber 
Our  father,  the  Ood." 


IX 
THE   WORLD   OF  WATERS 

r    r 

To  the  Ocean 

JrCOLL  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean — roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore ; — upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own, 
When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknell'd,  uncoffin'd  and  un- 
known. 

His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths — thy  fields 
Are  not  a  spoil  for  him — thou  dost  arise 
And  shake  him  from  thee;  the  vile  strength  he 

wields 
For  earth's  destruction  thou  dost  all  despise. 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies. 
And  send'st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray. 
And  howling,  to  his  Gods,  where  haply  lie5» 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay. 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth — there  let  him 

lay. 

[255] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      The  armaments  which  thundcrstrike  the  walls 

norld  oj  Qf  rock -built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 
fV (iters 

And  monarchs   tremble  in  their  capitals. 

The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 

Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 

Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war; 

These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 

They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  wliich  mar 

Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy   shores   are   empires,   changed   in   all    save 

thee — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  are  they  ? 
Thy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free. 
And  many  a  tyrant  since:  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave  or  savage ;  their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts — not  so  t!iou. 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play — 
Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirrorj  where  the  Almighty's^  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests :  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed — in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving; — boundless,    endless,    and    sub- 
lime— 
The  image  of  Eternity — the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 

[25G] 


ijOjlden  numbers 

The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone         The 

Obeys  thee ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  ^^ond  of 

1  Waters 

alone. 

George  Gordox,  Lord  Byron.  t 

From  "  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage.'" 


A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave  * 

A  life  on  the  ocean  wave, 

A  home  on  the  rolHng  deep, 
Where  the  scattered  waters  rave, 

And  the  winds  their  revels  keep! 
Like  an  eagle  caged  I  pine 

On  this  dull  unchanging  shore: 
Oh!  give  me  the  flashing  brine. 

The  spray  and  the  tempest's  roar! 

Once  more  on  the  deck  I  stand 

Of  my  own  swift-gliding  craft : 
Set  sail !  farewell  to  the  land ! 

The  gale  follows  fair  abaft. 
We  shoot  through  the  sparkling  foam 

Like  an  ocean-bird  set  free; — 
Like  the  ocean-bird,  our  home 

We'll  find  far  out  on  the  sea. 

The  land  is  no  longer  in  view, 

The  clouds  have  begun  to  frown; 

Barper''s  "  CyclopoBdia  of  British  and  American  Poetrv.' 
r257l 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  But  with  a  stout  vessel  and  crew, 

World  of  We'll  say  let  the  storm  come  down ! 

And  the  song  of  our  hearts  shall  be, 
▼  While  the  winds  and  the  waters  rave, 

A  home  on  the  rolling  sea ! 
A  life  on  the  ocean  wave. 

Epes  Sargeni^ 

r 

The  Sea 

The  sea!  the  sea!  the  open  sea! 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free! 

Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 

It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round; 

It  plays  with  the  clouds ;  it  mocks  the  skies ; 

Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I'm  on  the  sea!  I'm  on  the  sea! 

I  am  where  I  would  ever  be; 

With  the  blue  above,  and  the  blue  below. 

And  silence  wheresoe'er  I  go; 

If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the  deep, 

What  matter?     I  shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love,  oh,  how  I  love  to  ride 
On  tlie  fierce,  foaming,  bursting  tide, 
When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moony 
Or   whistles  aloft  his  tempest  tune. 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below, 
And  why  the  sou'west  blasts  do  blow. 

[258] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

I  never  was  on  the  dull,^tame  shore,  ^^^ 

But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more.  Waters 


And  backward  flew  to  her  billowy  breast. 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's  nest; 
And  a  mother  she  was,  and  is,  to  me; 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  sea! 

The  waves  were  white,  and  red  the  morn, 
In  the  noisy  hour  when  I  was  born; 
And  the  whale  it  whistled,  the  porpoise  rolled. 
And  the  dolphins  bared  their  backs  of  gold; 
And  never  was  heard  such  an  outcry  wild 
As  welcomed  to  life  the  ocean-child! 

I've  lived  since  then,  in  oalm  and  strife. 
Full  fifty  summers,  a  sailor's  life. 
With  wealth  to  spend,  and  power  to  range. 
But  never  have  sought  nor  sighed  for  change 
And  Death,  whenever  he  comes  to  me. 
Shall  come  on  the  wild,  unbounded  sea! 

Barry  Cornwall. 
(Bryan  Waller  Procter.) 


A  Sea-Song 

A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 
A  wind  that  follows  fast. 

And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast; 
[259] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys, 

World  of  While,  like  the  eagle  free, 

Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 
Old  England  on  the  lee. 

O  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze 

And  white  waves  heaving  high; 
And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  lads^ 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free — 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  home. 

And  merry  men  are  we. 

There's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon. 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud; 
But  hark  the  music,  mariners ! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

The  lightning  flashes  free — 
While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  Is, 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

Allan  Cunningham. 


14001 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Visit  From  the  Sea  *  T/ie 

Far  from  the  loud  sea-beaches,  Waters 

Where  he  goes  fishing  and  crying,  to» 

Here  in  the  inland  garden,  ' 
Why  is  the  sea-gull  flying? 

Here  are  no  fish  to  dive  for: 

Here  is  the  corn  and  lea; 
Here  are  the  green  trees  rustling. 

Hie  away  home  to  sea! 

•  Ji'resh  is  the  river  water, 

And  quiet  among  the  rushes; 
This  is  no  home  for  the  sea-ecull. 
But  for  the  rooks  and  thrushes. 

Pity  the  bii'd  that  has  wandered  1 

Pity  the  sailor  ashore ! 
Hurry  him  home  to  tlic  ocean, 

Let  him  come  here  no  more ! 

High  on  the  sea-cliff  ledges 

The  white  gulls  are  trooping  and  crying; 
Here  among  rooks  and  roses, 

Why  is  the  sea-gull  flying? 

RoBEitT  Louis  Stevenson. 

*  Fram  ^'A  Child's  Garden  of  V$rm,'"    Bif  pmniitim 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

^<^*^''*  My  soul  to-day 

Sr  Is  far  away, 

Sailing  the  Vesuvian  Bay; 
My  winged  boat, 
A  bird  afloat. 
Swings  round  the  purple  peaks  remote  > 

Round  purple  peaks 

It  sails,  and  seeks 
Blue  inlets  and  bl*eii'  crystal  creeks, 

Where  high  rocks  throw. 

Through  deeps  below, 
A  duplicated  golden  glow. 

Far,  vague,  and  dim, 
The  mountains  swim; 

While  on  Vesuvius'  misty  brim. 
With  outstretched  handsj, 
The  gray  smoke  standi, 

O'erlooking  the  volcanic  lands. 

Here  Ischia  smiles 

O'er  liquid  miles; 
And  yonder,  bluest  of  the  isles, 

Calm  Capri  waits. 

Her  sapphire  gates 
Beguiling  to  her  bright  estates. 

*  By  courtesy  of  J.  B.  Lippincott  ^  Co, 
i.  262  j 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

I  heed  not,  if  The 

My  rippling  skiff  ^f/^*^  «/ 

J      ff      »  ^  ^  Watera 

Float  swift  or  sIoav  from  cliff  to  cliff; 

With  dreamful  eyes  * 

My  spirit  lies 
Under  the  walls  of  Paradise. 

Under  the  walls 

Where  swells  and  falls 
The  Bay's  deep  breast  at  intervals 

At  peace  I  lie, 

Blown  softly  by, 
A  cloud  upon  this  liquid  sky. 

The  day,  so  mild, 

Is  Heaven's  own  child. 
With  Earth  and  Ocean  reconciled; 

The  airs  I  feel 

Around  me  steal 
Are  murmuring  to  the  murmuring  keel. 

Over  the  rail 

My  hand  I  trail 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  sail, 

A  joy  intense. 

The  cooling  sense 
Glides  down  my  drowsy  indolence. 

With  dreamful  eyes 
My  spirit  lies 
Where  Summer  sings  and  never  dies,— 
[263] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The;  O'erveiled  with  vines 

World  oj  gjje  glows  and  shines 

Waters  .  ■,        r.  .  .,        j      • 

Among  her  luture  oil  and  wines. 

Her  children,  hid 

The  cliffs  amid, 
Are  gambolling  with  the  gambolling  kid, 

Or  down  the  walls, 

With  tipsy  calls. 
Laugh  on  the  rocks  like  waterfalls. 

The  fisher's  child. 

With  tresses  wild, 
Unto  the  smooth,  bright  sand  beguiled, 

With  glowing  lips 

Sings  as  she  skips, 
Or  gazes  at  the  far-off  ships. 

Yon  deep  bark  goes 

Where  traffic  blows, 
From  lands  of  sun  to  lands  of  snows; 

This  happier  one, — 

Its  course  is  run 
From  lands  of  snow  to  lands  of  sun. 

O  happy  ship. 

To  rise  and  dip. 
With  the  blue  crystal  at  your  lip! 

O  happy  crew, 

]\Iy  heart  with  you 
Sails,  and  sails,  and  sings  aiiew! 
[264] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

No  more,  no  more  Tlie 

The  worldly  shore  ^^^^'i  of 

.  Waters 

Upbraids  me  with  its  loud  uproar: 

With  dreamful  eyes  * 

My  spirit  lies 

Under  the  walls  of  Paradise ! 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


Tacking  Ship  Off  Shore  * 

The  weather-leech  of  the  topsail  shivers, 

The     bowlines    strain,    and    the    lee-shrouds 
slacken. 
The  braces  are  taut,  the  lithe  boom  quivers, 
And  the  waves  with  the  coming  squall-cloud 
blacken. 

Open  one  point  on  the  weather-bow. 

Is  the  light-house  tall  on  Fire  Island  Head. 

There's  a  shade  of  doubt  on  the  captain's  brow. 
And  the  pilot  watches  the  heaving  lead. 

I  stand  at  the  wheel,  and  with  eager  eye 
To  sea  and  to  sky  and  to  shore  I  gaze, 

Till  the  muttered  order  of  "  Full  and  by !  " 
Is  suddenly  changed  for  "  Full  for  stays ! ' 

The  ship  bends  lower  before  the  breeze. 

As  her  broadside  fair  to  the  blast  she  laysf 

*  By  courtesy  of  The  Churchman. 

[265] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The     And  she  swifter  springs  to  the  rising  seas, 

2£^       It  is  silence  all,  as  each  in  his  place, 

With  the  gathered  coil  in  his  hardened  hands, 
By  tack  and  bowline,  b}^  sheet  and  brace, 
Waiting  the  watchword  impatient  stands. 

And  the  light  on  Fire  Island  Head  draws  near, 
As,  trumpet-winged,  the  pilot's  shout 

From  his  post  on  the  bowsprit's  heel  I  hear, 
With  the  welcome  call  of  "  Ready !  About !  " 

No  time  to  spare!     It  is  touch  and  go; 

And  the  captain  growls,  "  Down  helm !  hard 
down ! " 
As  my  weight  on  the  whirling  spokes  I  throw. 
While   heaven    grows   black   with   the   storm- 
cloud's  frown. 

High  o'er  the  knight-heads  flies  the  spray, 
As  we  meet  the  shock  of  the  plunging  sea; 

And  my  shoulder  stiff  to  the  wheel  I  lay, 

As  I  answer,  "  Ay,  aj^,  sir !  Ha-a-rd  a-lee ! " 

With  the  swerving  leap  of  a  startled  steed 
The  sliip  flies  fast  in  the  eye  of  the  wind. 

The  dangerous  shoals  on  the  lee  recede, 

And  the  headland  white  we  have  left  behind. 

Tile  topsails  flutter,  the  jibs  collapse. 

And  belly  and  tug  at  the  groaning  cleats; 

[  266  1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

And  spanker  slats,  and  the  mainsail  flaps;  The 

And  thunders  the  order,  "  Tacks  and  sheets !  "  ^^r/^  oj 

Waters 

'Mid  the  rattle  of  blocks  and  the  tramp  of  the       ^ 
crew. 

Hisses  the  rain  of  the  rushing  squall: 
The  sails  are  aback  from  clew  to  clew, 

And  now  is  the  moment  for  "  Mainsail,  haul ! " 

And  the  heavy  yards,  like  a  baby's  toy, 
By  fifty  strong  arms  are  swiftly  swung: 

She  holds  her  way,  and  I  look  with  joy 

For  the  first  white  spray  o'er  the  bulwarks 
flung. 

"  Let  go,  and  haul !  "    'Tis  the  last  command, 
And  the  head-sails  fill  to  the  blast  once  more: 

Astern  and  to  leeward  lies  the  land. 

With  its  breakers  white  on  the  shingly  shore. 

What  matters  the  reef,  or  the  rain,  or  the  squall? 

I  steady  the  helm  for  the  open  sea; 
The  first  mate  clamors,  "  Belay,  there,  all !  " 

And  the  captain's  breath  once  more  comes  free. 

And  so  off  shore  let  the  good  ship  fly ; 

Little  care  I  how  the  gusts  may  blow. 
In  my  fo'castle  bunk,  in  a  jacket  dry. 

Eight  bells  have  struck,  and  my  watch  is  below. 

Walter  Mitchell. 
[267] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Windlass  Song 

World  of 
Waters  Heave  at  the  Avindlass ! — Heave  O,  cheerly,  men ! 

ec^  Heave  all  at  once,  with  a  will! 

The  tide  quickly  making, 

Our  cordage  a-creaking, 

The  water  lias  put  on  a  frill, 

Heave  O! 

Fare  you  well,  sweethearts ! — Heave  O,  cheerly, 
men ! 
Fare  3^ou  well,  frolic  and  sport ! 
The  good  ship  all  ready, 
Each  dog-vane  is  steady. 
The  wind  blowing  dead  out  of  port, 
Heave  O ! 

Once  in  blue  water — Heave  O,  cheerly,  men! 
Blow  it  from  north  or  from  south; 
She'll  stand  to  it  tightly. 
And  curtsey  politely. 
And  carry  a  bone  in  her  mouth, 
Heave  O ! 

Short  cruise  or  long  cruise — Heave  O,  cheerly, 
men ! 
Jolly  Jack  Tar  tliinks  it  one. 
No  latitude  dreads  he 
Of  White,  Black,  or  Red  Sea, 
olreat  icebergs,  or  tropical  sun, 
Heave  O! 
1:268  J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

One  other  turn,  and  Heave  O,  cheerly,  men!  The 

Heave,  and  good-b^'e  to  the  shore !  World  of 

r^  ,  .    •.  •>  Waters 

Our  money,  how  went  itr 

We  shared  it  and  spent  it;  9 

Next  year  we'll  come  back  with  some  more, 

Heave  O ! 

William  AllinghaMo 


The  Coral  Grove 

Deep  in  the  wave  is  a  coral  grove, 

Where  the  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove ; 

Where  the  sea-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue 

That  never  are  Avet  with  falling  dew, 

But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  sliine, 

^ar  down  in  the  green  and  glass^^  brine. 

The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain  drift; 

And  the  pearl-shell  spangle  the  flinty  snow; 

From  coral  rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 

Their  boughs  where  the  tides  and  billows  flow. 

The  water  is  calm  and  still  below. 

For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there; 

And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that  glow 

In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air, 

Thsrei  with  ita  waving  blade  of  gveeni 

The  sea-flag  streams  thretjgh  the  silent  waki?; 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 
^     o/  ^Q  blush  like  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter. 
There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 
The  fan-coral  sweeps  through  the  clear  deep  sea. 
And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 
Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea; 
And  life,  in  rare  and  beautiful  forms, 
Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone. 
And  is  safe  when  the  wrathful  Spirit  of  storms 
Has  made  the  top  of  the  wave  his  own. 

And  when  the  ship  from  his  furjj^  flies. 
Where  the  myriad  voices  of  Ocean  roar; 
When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the  murky  skies. 
And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore, — 
Then,  far  below,  in  the  peaceful  sea. 
The  pui-ple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove. 
While  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly 
Through  the  bending  twigs  of  the  coral  grove. 

James  Gates  Percivai^ 


The  Shell 

See  what  a  lovely  shell, 
Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  close  to  my  foot. 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine, 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  spire  and  whorl, 
[270] 


r 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

How  exquisitely  minute,  T'w 

A  miracle  of  design!  Waters 

What  is  it?  a  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name. 
Let  him  name  it  who  can. 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 

The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn. 
Void  of  the  little  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurled, 
A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 
Through  his  dim  water- world? 
Slight,  to  be  crush'd  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger-nail  on  the  sand! 
Small,  but  a  work  divine! 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand. 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three-decker's  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock. 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand! 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


[271] 


? 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

77te  Bermudas 

Wcrld  of  1         . 1 

Waters        Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride, 

In  the  ocean's  bosom  unespied, 

Prom  a  small  boat,  that  rowed  along, 

The  listening  winds  received  this  song: 

*'  What  should  we  do  but  sing  His  praise, 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze, 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown. 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own? 
Where  He  the  huge  sea-monsters  wracks, 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs; 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage. 
Safe  from  the  storms,  and  prelate's  rage. 
He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring. 
Which  here  enamels  every  thing. 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care, 
On  daily  visits  through  the  air; 
He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright. 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night, 
And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows ; 
He  makes  the  figs  our  mouths  to  meet, 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet; 
But  apples  plants  of  such  a  price. 
No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice; 
With  cedars  chosen  by  His  hand, 
From  Lebanon,  He  stores  the  land, 

1 272  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

And  makes  the  hollow  seas,  that  roar,  The 

Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore ;  World  oj 

He  cast  (of  wliich  we  rather  boast) 

The  Gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast, 

And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 

A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 

Oh !  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt, 

Till  it  arrive  at  Heaven's  vault, 

Which,  thence  (perhaps)  reboundmgj  may 

Echo  beyond  the  Mexique  Bay." 

Thus  sung  they,  ir  the  English  boat. 
An  holy  and  a  cheerful  note; 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime. 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

Andrew  MarvelLo 

r 

Where  Lies  the  Land? 

iVhere  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go.? 
Far,  far  ahead  is  all  her  seamen  know 
knA  where  the  land  she  travels  from?     Away 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  thej^  can  say. 


» 


3n  sunny  noons  upon  the  deck's  smooth  face', 
Linked  arm  in  arm,  how  pleasant  here  to  pace; 
3r,  o'er  the  stern  reclining,  watch  below 
rhe  foaming  wake  far  widening  9.S  we  go. 

[nz] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The  On  stormy  nights  when  wild  north-westers  rave, 

Waiers  ^^w  proud  a  thing  to  fight  with  wind  and  wave ! 

^  The  dripping  sailor  on  the  reeling  mast 

'  Exults  to  bear,  and  scorns  to  wish  it  past. 


Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 
And  where  the  land  she  travels  from?     Away; 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 


i[274L 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

For  Home  and  Country 

*•  Sncli  is  the  patriot'' s  hoanc,  ■where' ei-  we  roarn^ 
r/jc  ^^'-•if,^  ftgfif  conntrv  ever  is  at  home." 

This  is  the  proud  claim  of  Goldsmith's  "  Traveller,**  and 
the  same  passionate  loyalty  to  the  soil  inspires  all  these 
poems  of  Fatherland.  The  Scotsman's  heart  is  vn  the 
Highlands,  the  birthplace  of  valor,  the  country  of 
worth;  the  English  -warrior  boasts  of  his  country: 

"  And  o^er  one-sixth  of  all  the  earth,  and  over  all  the  main. 
Like  some  good  Faii-y,  Freedom  marks  and  blesses  her  domain  /" 

the  Irish  Minstrel-boy  tears  the  chords  of  his  faithful 
harp  asunder  lest  they  sound  in  the  service  of  the  foe, 
while  the  quick,  alarming  Yankee  drum  in  Bret  Harte's 
"  Reveille  "  calls  upon  each  freeman  to  defend  the  land 
of  the  pilgrim's  pride,  land  where  his  fathers  died. 
Religion,  war,  and  glory  were  the  three  souls  of  a  per- 
fect Christian  knight,  says  Lamartine,  and  if  Death's 
couriers.  Fame  and  Honor,  summon  us  to  the  fields 

"  Our  business  is  like  men  to  fight 
And  hero-like  to  die." 

In  Kipling's  "  Recessional  "  and  Lowell's  "  Fatherland  " 
we  hear  a  note  as  valiant,  but  more  spiritual.  The  OTie 
makes  us  remember  that 

"  The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies — 
The  captains  and  the  kings  depart- 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice. 
An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart." 

The  other  leads  us  to  still  higher  levels  of  thought,  re- 
minding us  that  wherever  a  single  soul  doth  pine,  or 
one  man  may  help  another,  that  spot  of  earth  is  thine 
and  mine — that  is  the  world-wide  fatherland. 


X 
FOU   HOME   AISD   COUNTRi 

r 

The  First,  Best  Country 

IjUT  where  to  find  the  happiest  spot  below, 
Who  can  direct,  when  all  pretend  to  know? 
The  shuddering  tenant  of  the  frigid  zone 
Boldly  proclaims  that  happiest  spot  his  own; 
Extols  the  treasures  of  his  stormy  seas, 
And  his  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease; 
The  naked  negro,  panting  at  the  line, 
Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine. 
Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 
And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  goods  they  gave. 
Such  is  the  patriot's  boast,  where'er  we  roam. 
His  first,  best  country  ever  is  at  home. 
And  yet  perhaps,  if  countries  we  compare, 
And  estimate  the  blessings  which  they  share, 
Though  patriots  flatter,  still  shall  wisdom  find 
An  equal  portion  dealt  to  all  mankind ; 
As  different  good,  by  art  or  nature  given, 
To  different  nations  makes  their  blessings  even* 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 
From  "  The  Traveller." 

i  S?75  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Tor 
Home 

and 
^untrx 


f 


My  Native  Land 

Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Wiio  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

"  This  is  my   own- — my   native  land !  " 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned, 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well! 
Eor  him  no  minstrel's  raptures  swell. 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim, — 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self. 
Living  shall  forfeit  fair  renown. 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung. 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 

Sir  Waltee  Scott. 
From  "  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 


Loyalty 

Hame,  hame,  hame!  oh  hame  I  fain  wad  be, 
O  hame,  hame,  hame,  to  nn^  ain  countrie ! 
When  the  flower  is  i'  the  bud  and  the  leaf  is  on 

the  tree. 
The  lark  shall  sing  me  hame  in  my  ain  countrie; 

[276] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Hame,  hame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  wad  be.  For 

0  hame,  hame  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie  !  Borne 

and 

The  green  leaf  o'  loyaltie's  began  for  to  fa',  °"^  ^^ 

The  bonnie  white  rose  it  is  withering  an'  a' ;  * 

But   I'll    water    't   wi'    the    blude   of   usurping 

tyrannie. 
An'  green  it  will  grow  in  my  ain  countrie. 
Hame,  hame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  wad  be, 
0  hame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie  ! 

The  great  now  are  gane,  wha  attempted  to  save; 
The  new  grass  is  springing  on   the  tap  o'  their 

grave : 
But  the  sun  thro'  the  mirk  blinks  biythe  in  my  e'e, 
"I'll  shine  on  ye  yet  in  yere  ain  countrie." 
Hame,  hame,  hame  !  oh  hame  I  fain  load  be, 
Hame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie  ! 

Allan  Cunningham. 

My  HearVs  in  the  Highlands 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the  North 
The  birthplace  of  valor,  the  country  of  worth; 

[277] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

For      Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 

Home    rphe  hills  of  the  Highlands  forever  I  love. 
and 

country  jr^rewell   to   the   mountains   high   covered   with 

5^  snow ; 

Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below; 

Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hanging  woods  { 

Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here, 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deerf 

Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 

Robert  Burns. 


The  Minstrel-Boy 

The  Minstrel-boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you'll  find  him; 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him. — 
"  Land  of  song !  "  said  the  warrior-bard, 

"  Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee. 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard. 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee ! " 

The  Minstrel  fell !— but  the  f oeman's  chain 
Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under; 

The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  agaifli 
Fer  he  t@r9  its  eherds  asunder  i 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee,  ^^r 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery!  i 

''  and 

Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free,  Cauntn 

They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery !  "  ^ 

Thomas  Mooke. 


The  Harp  That  Once  Through  Tara*s  Halls 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled. 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  daj's, 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er, 
And  hearts,  that  once  beat  high  for  praise, 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more. 

No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells: 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night. 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

The  only  throb  she  gives 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks. 

To  show  that  still  she  lives. 

Thomas  Moore, 

r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

pQf.  Fife  and  Drum 

^j^  The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Country  Excites  us  to  arms, 

S^  With  shrill  notes  of  anger 

And  mortal  alarms. 

The  double,  double,  double  beat 
Of  the  thundering  drum, 
Cries,  "  Hark !  the  foes  come ; 
Charge,  charge !  'tis  too  late  to  retreat.^ 

John  Deydem. 
From  "  The  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day." 


The  Cavalier's  Song 

A  steed!  a  steed  of  matchlesse  speed, 

A  sword  of  metal  keene! 
All  else  to  noble  heartes  is  drosse, 

All  else  on  earth  is  meane. 
The  neighyinge  of  the  war-horse  prowde, 

The  rowlinge  of  the  drum, 
The  clangor  of  the  trumpet  lowde, 

Be  soundes  from  heaven  that  come ; 
And  oil !  the  thundering  presse  of  knightes, 

Whenas  their  war  cryes  swell, 
May  tole  from  heaven  an  angel  bright, 

And  rouse  a  fiend  from  hell. 

f  280  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Then  niountc !  then  mounte,  brave  gallants  all,      tor 
And  don  your  helmes  amame:  Hortii 

Deathe's  couriers,   fame  and  honor,  call 


Us  to  the  field  againe. 
No  shrewish  teares  shall  fill  our  eye 

When  the  sword-hilt's  in  our  hand — 
Heart-whole  we'll   part,  and  no  whit  sighe 

For  the   fayrest  of  the  land; 
Let    piping    swaine,   and    craven    wight, 

Thus  weepe  and  puling  crye; 
Our  business  is  like  men  to  fight. 

And  hero-like  to  die ! 

William  Motherwell. 

The  Old  Scottish  Cavalier 

Come  listen  to  another  song, 

Should  make  your  heart  beat  high, 
Bring  crimson  to  ^^our  forehead. 

And  the  luster  to  your  eye; — 
It  is  a  song  of  olden  time. 

Of  days  long  since  gone  by. 
And  of  a  baron  stout  and  bold 

As  e'er  wore  sword  on  thigh! 

Like  a  brave  old  Scottish  cavalier^ 
All  of  the  olden  time ! 

He  kept  his  castle  in  the  north, 
Hard  by  the  thundering  Spey; 
[281] 


Country 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  And  a  thousand  vassals  dwelt  around, 

Home  ^11  of  his  kindred  they. 

And  not  a  man  of  all  that  clan 


iMiintry 

r 


Had  ever  ceased  to  pray 
For  the  Royal  race  they  loved  so  well, 
Though  exiled  far  away 

From  the  steadfast  Scottish  cavalierf 
All  of  the  olden  time! 

His  father  drew  the  righteous  sword 

For  Scotland  and  her  claims. 
Among  the  loyal  gentlemen 

And  chiefs  of  ancient  names, 
Who  swore  to  fight  or  fall  beneath 

The  standard  of  King  James, 
And  died  at  Killiecrankie  Pass 

With  the  glory  of  the  Graemes; 
Like  a  true  old  Scottish  cavalier 
All  of  the  olden  time! 

He  never  owned  the  foreign  i*ule, 

No  master  he  obej^ed. 
But  kept  his  clan  in  peace  at  home. 

From  foray  and  from  raid ; 
And  when  they  asked  him  for  his  oath, 

He  touched  his  glittering  blade. 
And  pointed  to  his  bonnet  blue, 
That  bore  the  white  cockade: 
Like  a  leal  old  Scottish  cavalier, 
All  of  the  olden  time! 
[282] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


At  length  the  news  ran  through  the  land- 

The  Pkince  had  come  again! 
That  night  the  fiery  cross  was  sped 

O'er  mountain  and  tlu'ough  glen; 
[A^nd  our  old  baron  rose  in  might. 

Like  a  lion  from  his  den, 
And  rode  awa}'^  across  the  hills 

To  Charlie  and  his  men, 

With  the  valiant  Scottish  cavaliers, 
All  of  the  olden  time! 


For 
Home 

and 
Countm 


r 


He  was  the  first  that  bent  the  knee 

When  the  Standard  waved  abroad, 
He  was  the  first  that  charged  the  foe 

On  Preston's  bloody  sod ; 
And  ever,  in  the  van  of  fight. 

The  foremost  still  he  trod, 
Until  on  bleak  Culloden's  heath, 

He  gave  Iiis  soul  to  God, 

Like  a  good  old  Scottish  cavalier, 
All  of  the  olden  time! 


Oh  never  shall  we  know  again 
A  heart  so  stout  and  true — 

The  olden  times  have  passed  away, 
And  weary  are  the  new: 

The  fair  white  rose  has  faded 
From  the  garden  where  it  grew, 
{283] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  And  no  fond  tears  save  those  of  heaven, 

Horne  ^he  glorious  bed  bedew 

Of  the  last  old  Scottish  cavalier 


l-oiuitTy 


All  of  the  olden  time ! 

William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun. 


The  Song  of  the  Camp 

"  Give  us  a  song !  "  the  soldiers  cried, 

The  outer  trenches  guarding, 
When  the  heated  guns  of  the  camps  allied 

Grew  weary  of  bombarding. 

The  dark  Redan,  in  silent  scoff. 
Lay,  grim  and  threatening,  under; 

And  the  tawny  mound  of  the  Malakoff 
No  longer  belched  its  thunder. 

There  was  a  pause.     A  guardsman  said: 
"  We  storm  the  forts  to-morrow ; 

Sing  while  we  may,  another  day 
Will  bring  enough  of  sorrow." 

They  lay  along  the  battery's  side, 

Below  the  smoking  cannon, — 
Brave  hearts,  from  Severn  and  from  Clyde. 

And  from  the  banks  of  Shannon. 

They  sang  of  love,  and  not  of  fame ; 
Forgot  was  Britain's  glory ; 
[  284  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name,  For 

But  all  sang  "  Annie  Laurie."  ^^^'"^ 

mid 

Voice  after  voice  caught  up  the  song,  Country 

Until  its  tender  passion  ^ 

Rose  like  an  anthem  rich  and  strong, — 
Their  battle  eve  confession. 

Dear  girl !  her  name  he  dared  not  speak ; 

But  as  the  song  grew  louder. 
Something  upon  the  soldier's  cheek 

Washed  off  the  stains  of  powder. 

Beyond  the  darkening  ocean  burned 

The  bloody  sunset's  embers, 
While  the  Crimean  valleys  learned 

How  English  love  remembers. 

And  once  again  a  fire  of  hell 

Rained  on  the  Russian  quarters. 
With  scream  of  shot  and  burst  of  shell. 

And  bellowing  of  the  mortars! 

And  Irish  Nora's  eyes  are  dim 

For  a  singer  dumb  and  gory; 
And  English  Mary  mourns  for  him 

Who  sang  of  "  Annie  Laurie." 

Sleep,  soldiers!  still  in  honored  rest 

Your  truth  and  valor  wearing; 
The  bravest  are  the  tenderest, — 

The  loving  are  the  daring. 

Bayard  Taylor, 

[285] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

For  Border  Ballad 

Home  11" 

^„^      March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale; 

Countnf       Why   the   de'il   dinna  ye   march   forward   in 

order  ? 

March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale! 

All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  over  the  Border! 

Many  a  banner  spread 

Flutters  above  your  head, 

Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story. 

Mount  and  make  ready,  then. 

Sons  of  the  mountain  glen, 

Fight  for  the  Queen  and  our  old  Scottish  glory. 

Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hlrsels  are  graz- 
ing; 
Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing; 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance  and  the  bow. 
Trumpets  are  sounding; 
War-steeds   are    bounding ; 
Stand  to  your  arms  and  march  in  good  order. 
England  shall  many  a  day 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 
from  "  The  Monastery" 


{m\ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Gathering  Song  of  Donuil  Dim  Jb- 

Hoine 
Pibrocli  of  Donuil  Dhu,  and 

Pibroch  of  Donuil,  Country 

Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew,  ^ 

Summon  Clan  Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away. 

Hark  to  the  summons ! 
Come  in  your  war-array, 

Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky; 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlochy. 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 
Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

Leave  untended  the  herd. 

The  flock  without  shelter; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer; 

Leave  nets  and  barges: 
Come  with  your  fighting  gearj 

Broadswords  and  targes. 
[287] 


(ifid 
Country 


GOLDExV    NUMBERS 

For  Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Hoiiie  Forests  are  rended, 

Come  as  the  waves  come,  whcBi 

Navies  are  stranded: 
Faster  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and   faster, 
Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom, 
Tenant  and  master. 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come; 

See  how  they  gather! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades. 

Forward  each  man  set ! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 

Knell  for  the  onset! 

Sir  Walter  ScoxTr 


The  Reveille 

Hark !  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands. 

And  of  armed  men  the  hum ; 
Lo!   a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Round  the  quick  alarming  drum, — 
Saying,  "  Come, 
Freemen,  come ! 
Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted,"  said  the  quick 
Alarming  drum. 
1288] 


GOLDEN    M UMBERS 

^*  Let  mc  of  my  heart  take  counsel :  For 

War  is  not  of  life  the  sum ;  Horm 

Who  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harv^est  Countrv^ 

When  the  autumn  days  siiall  come?" 
But  the  drum 
Echoed,  "  Come ! 
Death  shall  reap  the   braver  harvest,"  said  t?i<i 
Solenm-sounding  drum. 

"  But  when  won  the  coming  battle, 

What  of  profit  springs  therefrom  ? 
What  if  conquest,  subjugation. 
Even  greater  ills  become?  " 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come ! 
You   must   do  the   sum   to  prove   it,"   said  the 

Yankee-answering  drum. 

"  What  if,  'mid  the  cannons'  thunder, 
Whistling  shot  and  bursting  bomb, 
When  mv  brothers  fall  around  me, 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  numb  ?  '* 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come ! 
Better   there    in    death    united,   than   in    life  4, 
recreant, 
—Come !  " 

Thus  they  answered, — hoping,  fearing, 
Some  in  faith,  and  doubting  some, 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  Till  a  trumpct-volce  proclaiming, 

Honw  Said,  "  INIy  chosen  people,  come !  '* 

Countnt  Then  the  drum, 

^  Lo!  was  dumb, 

^        For  the  great  heart  of  the  nation,  throbbing^ 

answered, 
"  Lord,  we  come !  " 

Bret  Habte. 

r 

Ye  Mariners  of  England 

Ye  Mariners  of  England, 

That  guard  our   native  seas. 
Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  year», 

The  battle  and  the  breeze. 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again, 

To  match  another  foe! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow — 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirit  of  your  fathers 
Shall  start  from  every  wave! 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  famt« 
And  Ocean  was  their  grave. 

Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
1290] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep  For 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow — •  Home 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long,  p      , 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow.  ^ 

? 
Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep , 
Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-wave, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 
With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below. 
As  they  roar  on  the  shore 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow — 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  wdnds  do  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn. 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name. 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow,— 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

Thomas  Camfs£X4m 

r 

I  an) 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

hor  The  Knlghfs  Tomb 

J  J  0777  € 

and      ^Vhere  is  the  grave  of  Sir  Arthur  O'Kcllyn? 
Country        Where  may  the  grave  of  th.at  good  man  be  ? — • 
§*       By  the  side  of  a  spring,  on  the  breast  of  Hd» 
velUm, 
Under  the  twigs  of  a  young  birch  tree ! 

The  oak  that  in  summer  Vvas  sv.eet  to  hear, 

And  rustled  its  leaves  in  the  fall  of  the  year, 

And  whistled  and  roared  in  the  winter  alone. 

Is  gone, — and  the  birch  in  its  stead  is  gro-wn.-* 

The  knight's  bones  are  dust, 

And  his  good  sword  rust ; — 

His  soul  is  with  the  saints,  I  trust. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


How  Sleep  the  Brave! 

How  sleep  the  Brave  who  sink  to  rest 
By  all  their  country's  Avishes  blest! 
Wlien  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold. 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould. 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung; 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung; 
There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ; 
[292] 


GOLDEN   NUMBI:RS 

And  Freedom  sliall  awhile  repair,  For 

To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there!  Home 

William  Collins.       clZ^tr^ 
^  If 

Dirge 
For  One  Who  Fell  in  Battle. 
Room  for  a  soldier!  lay  him  in  the  clover: 
He  loved  the  fields,  and  they  shall  bo  his  cover; 
Make  his  mound  with  hers  who  called  him  once 
her  lover: 
Where  the  rain  may  rain  upon  it, 
Where  the  sun  may  shine  upon  it, 
Where  the  lamb  hath  lain  upon  it, 
And  the  bee  will  dine   ipon  it. 

Bear  him  to  no  dismal  tomb  under  city  churches ; 
Take  him  to  the  fragrant  fields,  by  the  silver 

birches, 
Where  thft  whip-poor-will  shall  mourn,  wheie  the 
oriole  perches : 
Make   his   mound  with  sunshine  on  it. 
Where  the  bee  will  dine  upon  it. 
Where  the  Iamb  hath  lain  upon  it, 
And  the  rain  will  rain  upon  it. 

Busy  as  the  bee  was  he,  and  his  rest  should  b" 

the  clover; 
Gentle  as  the  lamb  was  he,  and  the  fern  should 

be  his  cover; 

[993] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Fo7      Fern  and  rosemary  shall  grow  my  soldier's  pillow 
Home  over: 

Countru  Where  the  rain  may  rain  upon  it, 

Where  the  sun  may  shine  upon  it, 
Where  the  lamb  hath  lain  upon  it, 
And  the  bee  will  dine  upon   it. 

Sunshine  in  his  heart,  the  rain  would  come  full 

often 
Out   of  those   tender   eyes   which   evermore   did 

soften : 
He  never  could  look  cold  till  we  saw  him  in  his 
coffin. 
Make  his  mound  with  sunshine  on  it. 
Plant  the  lordly  pine  upon  It, 
Where  the  moon  niay  stream  upon  it. 
And  memory  shall  dream  upon  it. 

*'  Captain  or  Colonel," — whatever  invocation 
Suit  our  hymn  the  best,  no  matter  for  thy  sta- 
tion,— 
On  thy  grave  the  rain  shall  fall  from  the  eyes 
of  a  mighty  nation! 
Long  as  the  sun  doth  shine  upon  it. 
Shall  glow  the  goodly  pine  upon  it, 
Long  as  the  stars  do  gleam  upon  it, 
Shall  memory  come  to  dream  upon  it. 
Thomas  William  Parsons. 

r 


GOLDEN    NUMBP^.RS 

The   Burial  of  Si?-  John  Moore  For 

foTne 
Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral-note,  and 

As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried;  Lotmtnf 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot  5^ 

O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning, 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light. 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Not  in  sheet  or  in  shroud  we  wound  him; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest. 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  wat 
dead. 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought  as  we  hollow'd  his  narrow  bed. 

And  smooth'd  down  his  lonely  pillow, 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o-« 
his  head, 

And  we  far  away  on  the  billow ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gonCp 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him — 

[25)5] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

For      But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 

Hoirw         jjj  ^]^g  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 
and 

^  But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 
V  When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring ; 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory; 

We  cammed  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone — ■ 
But  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory, 

Charles  Wslfe. 


Soldier,  Rest  ! 

Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking; 
Dream  of  battle-fields  no  more. 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall. 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing; 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall. 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er. 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more: 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking. 
Mom  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking, 

[296  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear,  For 

Armor's   clang,   or  war-steed's  champing;     ^^^^ 
Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here,  Qqu  y 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping.  r^ 

Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come,  ' 

At  the  daA'-break,  from  the  fallow, 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum. 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near. 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here. 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 
From  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake." 


Recessional 

God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old — - 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle-line — 

Beneath  Whose  awful  Hand  we  hold 
Dominion   over  palm  and  pine — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 

The  tumult  and   the  shouting  dies — 

The  captains  and  the  kings  depart- 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  Sacrifice, 
An  iiumble  and  a  contrite  heart. 
[  ^^97  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For      Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

TJ 

^"^    Lest  we  forget — lest  we  foraet! 
and  ^  ^ 

Lountry  Far-called  our  navies  melt  away — 

^  On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire — = 

Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 

Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre! 

Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe^ 

Such  boasting  as  the  Gentiles  use 
Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard — 

All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 

And  guarding  calls  not  Thee  to  guard — 

For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word, 

Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord!     Amen. 

RuDYARD  Kipling. 


The  Fatherland 

Where  is  the  true  man's  fatherland? 
Is  it  where  he  by  chance  is  born? 
Doth  not  the  yearning  spirit  scorn 
f  298] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  such  scant  borders  to  be  spanned? 
Oh  yes!  his  fatherland  must  be 
As  the  blue  heaven  wide  and  free! 

Is  it  alone  where  freedom  is, 

Where  God  is  God  and  man  is  man? 

Doth  he  not  claim  a  broader  span 
For  the  soul's  love  of  home  than  tliis? 
Oh  yes!  his   fatherland  must  be 
As  the  blue  heaven  wide   and  free! 

Where'er  a  human  heart  doth  wear 

Joy's  myrtle-wreath  or  sorrow's  gyves, 
Where'er  a  human  spirit  strives 

After  a  life  more  true  and  fair, 

There  is  the  true  man's  birthplace  grand, 

His  is  a  world-wide  fatherland ! 

Where'er  a  single  slave  doth  pine, 

Where'er  one  man  may  help  another, — 
Thank  God  for  such  a  birthright,  brother,- 

That  spot  of  earth  is  thine  and  mine! 

There  is  the  true  man's  birthplace  grand, 

His  is  a,  world-wide  fatherland ! 

James  Russeli.  liOwsLL. 


For 

Home 

and 

Country 

f 


r 


[999] 


INTEIILI.AVES 

New  Wo  lit  f  and  Old  Glory 

The  verse  in  this  division  gives  a  poetic  picture  of  America^ 
dear  land  of  ail  our  love,  from  the  very  beginning  of 
her  world-life.  It  sings  her  story  from  the  time  when 
Columbus, 

"  Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores ^ 
Before  him  only  shoreless  seas," 

sailed  toward  the  mysterious  continent  that  lay  hidden  i<» 
the  West;  sings  it  from  the  thrilling  moment  wnen  tht- 
weary  sailors  sighted  the  new  land,  up  to  the  twenti^cih 
century,  when  Old  Glory  waves 

"  Wherever  the  sails  of  peace  are  seen 
And  wherever  the  war-^uoind  biotas." 

Heroic  figures,  familiar  to  us  from  childhood,  apprar  in 
these  metrical  versions  of  episodes  in  our  national  his- 
tory. Here  is  the  red  man  whose  hour.,  alas!  zcns'  Kt^-rck 
when  first  the  pale-face  looked  upon  his  happy  hunting- 
grounds;  here  are  Pocahontas  and  her  Captain;  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers;  Washington,  the  soldier-statesman;  the 
embattled  farmers  who  fired  at  Concord  the  shot  hearo. 
round  the  tvorld;  the  Continentals  in  their  ragged  regi- 
mentals, and  Old  Ironsides  with  its  memories  of  1812. 
Then,  when  "  westward  the  Star  of  Empire  takes  its 
way,"  come  the  Argonauts  of  '4^9,  crossing  the  plains  in 
their  white-sailed  prairie  schooners  in  search,  like  Jason, 
of  the  Golden  Fleece. 

The  years  move  on,  and  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Great 
Commoner,  dear  benefacUr  of  the  race,  appears,  and, 
kneeling  at  his  feet,  the  dusky  slave  whose  bands  he 
loosened.  Gallant  Phil  Sheridan  and  Barbara  Frietchie 
are  here  too;  indeed,  you  will  find  that  the  number  of 
poems  inspired  by  the  Civil  War  is  very  great;  but  the 
patriot  host,  above,  belor:,  Irnrjws  now  no  North  nor 
South;  and  Lincoln^ s  "  dear  majestic  ghost  "  looks  down 
upon,  as  Old  Glory  floats  over,  a  united  commonwealth* 


XI 
NEW  WORLD  AND  OLD  GLORY 


Dear  Land  of  All  My  Love  * 

J-iONG  as   thine  art   shall   love  true  love, 
Long  as  thy  science  truth  shall  know, 
Long  as  thine  eagle  harms  no  dove, 
Long  as  thy  law  by  law  shall  grow, 
Long  as  thy  God  is  God  above, 
Thy  brother  every  man  below, 
So  long,  dear  land  of  all  my  love, 
Thy  name  shall  shine,  thy  fame  shall  glow. 

Sidney  Laniee. 
From  "  The  Centennial  Ode  "  (1876). 


Columbus  f 

Behind  him  lay  the  gray  Azores, 
Behind  the  gates  of  Hercules ; 

Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores, 
Before    him    only    shoreless    seas. 

*  From  "Poems  of  Sidney  Layiier,"  copyrif/ht  1891,  and 
published  hy  Charles  Scrihners  Sons. 

t  From  "  The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  Joaquin  Miller^ 
(copyrighted).  By  permission  of  the  publishers,  TheWhitak^r- 
Ray  Company,  San  Francisco. 

[301] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

New     The  good  mate  said:  "Now  must  we  pray, 
World        T-,       1    ,  ., 
and     Old  '  ^   ^"^^  very  stars  are  gone. 

Glory     Brave  Adm'r'l,  speak;  what  shall  I  say?" 
2?  "Why,  say:  'Sail  on,  sail  on!  and  on!'" 

"My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day; 

My  men  grow  ghastly  wan  and  weak." 
The  stout  mate  thought  of  home;  a  spray 

Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 
"What  shall  I  say,  brave  Adm'r'l,  say. 

If  we  sight  not  but  seas  at  dawn?" 
"Why,  you  shall  say,  at  break  of  day: 

'Sail  on!  sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!'" 

They  sailed  and  sailed  as  winds  might  blow, 

Until  at  last  the  blanched  mate  said: 
"Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 

Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 
These  very  winds  forget  the  way. 

For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone. 
Now  speak,  brave  Adm'r'l,  speak  and  say — " 

He  said:  "Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!" 

They  sailed.     They  sailed.     Then  spake  the  mate: 
"This  mad  sea  shows  his  teeth  to-night; 

He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait. 
With  lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite: 

Brave  Adm'r'l,  say  but  one  good  word; 
What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone?" 

[302] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  words  leaDt  as  a  leaping  sword;  New 

"  Sail  on ;  sail  on .'  sail  on !  and  on !  **  World 

and  Old 

Xhcn.  Dale  and  worn,  lie  kept  his  deck  ^ 

And  peered  through  darkness.    Ah,  that  night       ▼ 
of  all  dcirk  nights !     And  then  a  speck — 

A  light!  a  light!  a  light!  a  light! 
It  grew,  a  starlit  flag  unfurled ! 

it  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dav/n.  ^ 

He  gained  a  world ;  he  gave  that  world 

Its  greatest  lesson :  "  On !  sail  on !  " 

Joaquin  Milles. 


Pocahontas 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight; 

Round  him  press  a  countless  horde. 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 

Hark  !  a  cry  of  triumph  shrill 

Through  the  \nlderness  resounds, 
As,  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds, 

Sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still. 

Now  they  heap  the  funeral  pyre. 
And  the  torch  of  death  they  light ; 

A.h!  'tis  hard  to  die  by  fire! 

Who  will  sliield  the  captive  knighl? 
[303j 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

New  Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 
inu  Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd, 

Glory  Cold  the  victim's  mien  and  proud, 

^  And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Who  will  shield   the  fearless  heart? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  blade? 
From  the  throng  with  sudden  start 

See,  there  springs  an  Indian  maid. 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight: 

"  Loose  the  chain,  unbind  the  ring! 

I  am  daughter  of  the  king. 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right !  '* 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 
Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife, 

Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings, 
And  her  bosom  guards  his  life! 

In  the  woods  of  Powhattan, 
Still  'tis  told  by  Indian  fires 
How  a  daughter  of  their  sires 

Sav^d  a  captive  Englishman. 

William  Makepeace  Thackkuay. 


[304] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  New 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high  ^^  q^j 

On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast,  Glory 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky  5^ 

Their  giant  branches  tossed ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  tinimpet  that  sings  of  fame: 
Not  as  the  flying  come. 

In  silence  and  in  fear: 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang; 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea; 
And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 

'I'o  tne  Anthem  of  the  Free. 
The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  wliite  wave's  foam; 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared, — - 

This  was  their  welcome  home! 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 
Amidst  that  pilgrim  band: 

[305] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

New     Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 
,     ,,       Awav  from  their  childh-ood's  land? 

i>lory    There  was  woman  s  tearless  eye, 
^  Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 

'        There  was  manhood's  brow,  serenely  high. 
And   the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war? — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine  I 
Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod ; — 
They    have    left    unstained    what    there    they 
found — 

Freedom  to  worship  God. 

Felicia  Hemans 

r 

The   Twenty-second   of   December* 

Wild  was  the  day ;  the  wintry  sea 

Moaned  sadly  on  New  England's  strand, 

When  first  the  thoughtful  and  the  free, 
Our  fathers,  trod  the  desert  land. 

They  little  thought  how  pure  a  light, 

With  years,  should  gather  roimd  that  day ; 

*  B;/  courtesy  of  T>.  Appleton  ^  Co  ,  publishers  of  BryoMft 
Complete  Poetical  Works. 

[306  ] 


GOLDEN    x\  UMBERS 

How  love  should  keep  their  memories  bright,  ^^r,„, 

How  wide  a  realm  their  sons  should  sway         JVorld 

'      md  Old 
Green  are  their  bays;  but  greener  still  v>/orjf 

Shall  round  their  spreading  fame  be  wreathed,       ^ 
And  regions,  now  untrod,  shall  thrill 

With  reverence  when  their  names  are  breathed, 

Till  where  the  sun,  with  softer  fires, 

Looks  on  the  vast  Pacific's  sleep, 
The  children  of  the  Pilgrim  sires 

This  hallowed  day  like  us  shall  keep. 

William  Cullen  Beyant. 


Washington 

Soldier  and  statesman,  rarest  unison; 
High-poised  example  of  great  duties  done 
Simply  as  breathing,  a  woi'ld's  honors  worn 
As  life's  indifferent  gifts  to  all  men  born ; 
Dumb  for  himself,  unless  it  were  to  God, 
But  for  his  barefoot  soldiers  eloquent. 
Tramping  the  snow  to  coral  where  they  trod, 
Held  by  his  awe  in  hollow-eyed  content ; 
Modest,  yet  firm  as  Nature's  self;  unblamed 
Save  by  the  men  his  nobler  temper  shamed ; 
Never  seduced  through  show  of  present  good 
By  other  than  unsetting  lights  to  steer 

(307] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Nen      New-trimmed  in  Heaven,  nor  than  his  steadfast 

Glorv    ^^®^*^  steadfast,  far  from  rashness  as  from  fear; 
^       Rigid,  but  with  himself  first,  grasping  still 
In  swerv'eless  poise  the  wave-beat  helm  of  will ; 
Not  honored  then  or  now  because  he  wooed 
The  popular  voice,  but  that  he  still  withstood ; 
Broad-minded,  higher-souled,  there  is  but  one 
Who  was   all   this  and   ours,   and   all   men's, — • 
Washington. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 
From  "  Under  the  Old  Elm" 


Warren's  Address 

Stand !  the  ground's  your  own,  my  braves ! 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves? 
Will  ye  look  for  greener  graves .'' 

Hope  ye  mercy  still? 
What's  the  mercy  despots  feel? 
Hear  it  in  that  battle  peal ! 
Read  it  on  yon  bristling  steel! 

Ask  it, —  ye  who  will ! 

Fear  ye  foes  who  kill  for  hire? 
Will  ye  to  your  homes  retire? 
Look  behind  you!  they're  afire, 
And,  before  you,  sec 

[  'MB  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Who  have  done  it ! — From  the  vale  Acw 

On  they  come! — and  will  ye  quail? —  ^^fnr 

Leaden  rain  and  leaden  hail 


Let  their  welcome  be  I 

In  the  God  of  battles  trust! 
Die  we  may, — and  die  we  must; 
But  oh,  where  can  dust  to  dust 

Be  consigned  so  well, 
As  where  Heaven  its  dews  shall  shed 
On  the  martyred  patriot's  bed, 
And  the  rocks  shall  raise  their  head 

Of  his  deeds  to  tell ! 

John  Pierpont. 


Glory 


Carmen  Bellicosum 

Xn  their  ragged  regimentals 
Stood  the  old  Continentals, 

Yielding  not. 
When  the  grenadiers  v/ere  lunging, 
And  like  hail  fell  the  plunging 
Cannon  shot; 
When  the  files 
Of  the  isles, 
From  their  smoky  night  encampment,  bore  the 
banner  jf  the  rampant 
Unicom, 

1309) 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

New     And  grummer,  grummer,  grummcr,  roll'd  the  roll 
World  q£  |.jjg  drummer, 

md  Old  ™,  ,      ,  , 

g,  ihrough  the  morn! 

^  Then   with   eyes   to  the   front  all, 

And  guns  horizontal, 

Stood  cur  sires ; 
And  the  balls  whistled  deadly, 
And  in  streams  flashing  redly 
Blazed  the  fires; 
As  the  roar 
On  the  shore. 
Swept  the  strong  battle-breakers  o'er  the  green 
sodded  acres 

Of  the  plain ; 
And  louder,   louder,  louder,   cracked   the   black 
gunpowder, 

Cracking  amain ! 

Now  like  smiths  at  their  forges 
Woi'kcd  the  red  Saint  George's 

Cannoniers, 
And  the  "  villainous  saltpetre  " 
Rung  a  fierce,  discordant  metre 

'Round  their  ears ; 

As  the  swift 

Storm-drift, 
With    hot,    sweeping    anger,    came    the    Horse 
Guards'  clangor 

On  our  flanks ; 

[310] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

And    higher,    higher,    higher,    burned    the   old-      New 
fashioned  fire  World 

Through  the  ranks!  ""iilory 

Then  the  old-fashioned  Colonel  ^ 

Galloped  through  the  white  inferna? 

Powder  cloud ; 
His  broad-sword  was  swinging, 
And  his  brazen  throat  was  ringing 
Trumpet  loud; 
Then  the  blue 
Bullets  flew. 
And  the  trooper-jackets  redden  at  the  touch,  of 
the  leaden 

Rifle-breath ; 
And  rounder,  rounder,  rounder,  roared  our  iron 
six-pounder. 

Hurling  death! 

Guy  Humphreys  McMaster. 


The  American  Flag 
(Extract) 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
[3il] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

New  And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  wliite, 

World  With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 


Glory 

r 


She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us ! 

Joseph  Rodmak  Drake. 


Old  Ironsides 
(U.  S.  S.  •♦Constitution.") 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 
[312] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood  ^^w 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe,  ^^^     ^/^ 

When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood,  Glori/ 

And  waves  were  white  below.  2^ 

No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee; 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea! 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep. 

And  there  should  be  her  grave: 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag. 

Set  every  threadbare  sail. 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms. 

The  lightning  and  the  gale! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


r 


Indians 

Alas!  for  them,  their  day  is  o'er. 

Their  fires  are  out  on  hill  and  shore; 

No  more  for  them  the  wild  deer  bounds. 

The  plough  is  on  their  hunting  grounds; 

The  pale  man's  axe  rings  through  their  woods, 

The  pale  man's  sail  skims  o'er  their  floods; 

[313] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

New      Their  pleasant  .springs  are  dry ; 
World    Their  children, — look,  by  power  opprest, 
Giorv    Beyond  the  mountains  of  the  west, 
Their  children  go  to  die. 

Charles  Spragub. 

Crossing  the  Plains  * 

What  great  yoked  brutes  with  briskets  low; 
With  wrinkled  necks  like  buffalo, 
With  round,  brown,  liquid,  pleading  eyes, 
That  turned  so  slow  and  sad  to  you, 
That  shone  like  love's  eyes  soft  with  tears. 
That  seemed  to  plead,  and  make  replies, 
The  while  they  bowed  their  necks  and  drew 
The  creaking  load ;  and  locked  at  3-ou. 
Their  sable  briskets  swept  the  ground, 
Their  cloven  feet  kept  solemn  sound. 

Two  sullen  bullocks  led  the  line. 

Their  great  eyes  shining  bright  like  wine; 

Two  sullen  captive  kings  were  they, 

That  had  in  time  held  herds  at  bay, 

And  even  now  they  crushed  the  sod 

With  stolid  sense  of  majesty, 

And  stateh^  stepped  and  stately  trod, 

■^  From  "  The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  Joaquin 
Miller"  ''copyrighted J.  By  permission  of  the  puhlisJiers. 
The  Whitaker-Ray  Company,  San  Francisco. 

[314] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

As  if  't  were  something  still  to  be  Nstv 

Kings  even  in  captivity.  If  arid 

T  T,_  and  Old 

Joaquin  Miller. 


Kit  or  a 


r 

Concord  Hymn 

Sung  at  the  completion  of  the  Battle  Monument, 
April  19,   1836. 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arclied  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  svrept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creepSo 

On  the  green   bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone; 
That  memory  may  her  dead  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 

Ralph  Waldo  EmersoNo 

r 

£3141 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


New  Ode 

^f'i?  ,  Sung  in  the  Town  HaU,  Concord,  July  4,  1957. 
sna  Old 

Glory  O  tenderly  the  haughty  day 


r 


Fills  his  blue  urn  with  fire; 
One  morn  is  in  the  mighty  heaven, 
And  one  in  our  desire. 

The  cannon  booms  from  town  to  town. 

Our  pulses  beat  not  less, 
The  joy-bells  chime  their  tidings  down. 

Which  children's  voices  bless. 

For  He  that  flung  the  broad  blue  fold 
O'er-mantling  land  and  sea, 

One  third  part  of  the  sky  unrolled 
For  the  banner  of  the  free. 

The  men  are  ripe  of  Saxon  kind 

To  build  an  equal  state, — 
To  take  the  statute  from  the  mind 

And  make  of  duty  fate. 

United  States !  the  ages  plead, — 
Present  and  Past  in  under-song, — 

Go  put  your  creed  into  your  deed. 
Nor  speak  with  double  tongue. 

For  sea  and  land  don't  understand, 
Nor  skies  without  a  frown 

See  rights  for  which  the  one  hand  fights 
By  the  other  cloven  down. 

£37.8] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Be  just  at  home;  then  write  your  scroll  Nen> 

Of  honor  o'er  the  sea,  World 

And  bid  the  broad  Atlantic  roll, 
A  ferry  of  the  free. 


and  Old 
Glory 

r 


And  henceforth  there  shall  be  no  chain, 

Save  underneath  the  sea 
The  wires  shall  murmur  through  the  main 

Sweet  songs  of  liberty. 

The  conscious  stars  accord  above, 

The  waters  wild  below, 
And  under,  through  the  cable  wove, 

Her  fiery  errands  go. 

For  He  that  worketh  high  and  wise, 

Nor  pauses   in  His  plan. 
Will  take  the  sun  out  of  the  skies, 

Ere  freedom  out  of  man, 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 

r 

Stanzas  on  Freedom 

Is  true  Freedom  but  to  break 
Fetters  for  our  own  dear  sake. 
And,  with  leathern  hearts,  forget 
That  we  owe  mankind  a  debt.^^ 
No!  true  freedom  is  to  share 
All  the  chains  our  brothers  wear, 
[317] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

>.*/%.  And,  with  heart  and  hand,  to  be 

World  Earnest  to  make  others  free! 

and  Old 

^  They  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

^  For  the  fallen  and  the  weak ; 

They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 

Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse. 

Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 

j^'rom  the  truth  they  needs  must  tliinki 

They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 

In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

r 

Abraham  Lincoln 

This  man  whose  homely  face  you  look  upon, 

Was  one  of  nature's  masterful,  great  men ; 
Born  with  strong  arms,  that  unfought  battles 
won; 

Direct  of  speech,  and  cunning  with  the  pen. 
Cliosen  for  large  designs,  he  liad  the  art 

Of  winning  with  his  humor,  and  he  went 
Straight  to  his  mark,  which  was  the  human  lieart ; 

Wise,  too,  for  what  he  could  not  break  he  bent. 
Upon  his  back  a  more  than  Atlas-load, 

The  burden  of  the  Commonwealth,  was  laid ; 
He  stooped,  and  rose  up  to  it,  though  the  road 

Shot  suddenly  downwards,  not  a  whit  dismayed. 

[318] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Hold,  wan-Iors,  councillors,  kings !    All  now  give      AVw 
place  World 

To  this  dear  benefactor  of  the  race.  ^'L, 

hlotyt 

Richard  HENar  Stoddard.  ^ 

f 


Lincoln  the  Great  Commoner 

When  the  Norn-Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind  Hour, 
Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 
She  bent  the  strenuous  Heavens  and  came  down, 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road — 
Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  earth, 
Dashed  tlu'ough  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy; 
Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 
It  was  a  stuff  to  wear  for  centuries, 
A  man  that  matched  the  mountains  and  com- 
pelled 
The  stars  to  look  our  waj'^  and  honor  us. 

The  color  of  the  ground  was  in  him,  the  red 

Earth, 
The  tang  and  odor  of  the  primal  things, 
The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  rocks; 
The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  com; 
The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea; 
The  justice  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves; 
The  pity  of  the  snow  tliat  liides  all  scars ; 

[319.1 


^ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

New     The  loving  kindness  of  the  wayside  well; 
World    ^\^Q.  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 

Gloru    '^^^^^  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  weed 
As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 
To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 
That  shoulders  out  the  sky. 

And  so  he  came, 
From  prairie  cabin  to  the  Capitol, 
One  fair  Ideal  led  our  chieftain  on, 
Forevermore  he  burned  to  do  his  deed 
With  the  fine  stroke  and  gesture  of  a  King. 
He  built  the  rail  pile  as  he  built  the  State, 
Pouring    his   splendid   strength   through   every 

blow, 
The  conscience  of  him  testing  every  stroke, 
To  make  liis  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart; 
And  when  the  step  of  earthquake  shook  the  house, 
Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  hold, 
He  held  the  ridgepole  up  and  spiked  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise, 
And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  kingly  cedar  green  with  boughs 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills. 

Edwin  Markham. 
£320] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


r 


Abraham  Lincoln  New 

/c  lo/r  V  World 

(buramer,  1865.)  .  ^. , 

and  Ola 

Dead  is  the  roll  of  the  drvims,  Glory 

And  the  distant  thunders  die. 

They  fade  in  the  far-off  sky ; 
And  a  lovely  summer  comes, 

Like  the  smile  of  Him  on  high. 

How  the  tall  white  daisies  grow, 

Where  the  grim  artillery  rolled! 
(Was  it  only  a  moon  ago? 

It  seems  a  century  old,) — 

And  the  bee  hums  in  the  clover, 

As  the  pleasant  June  comes  on; 
Aye,  the  wars  are  all  over, — 

But  our  good  Father  is  gone. 

There  was  tumbling  of  traitor  fort, 

Flaming  of  traitor  fleet — 
Lighting  of  city  and  port. 

Clasping  in  square  and  street. 

There  was  thunder  of  mine  and  guiij 

Cheering  by  mast  and  tent, — 
When — his  dread  work  all  done,— 
And  his  high  fame  full  won— 

Died  the  Good  President 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


New 

World 

and  Old 

Glory 


And   our  boys  had   fondly   thought, 

To-day,  in  marching  by, 
From  the  ground  so  dearly  bought. 
And  the  fields  so  bravel}'  fought, 

To  have  met  their  Father's  eye. 

But  they  may  not  see  him  in  place 
Nor  their  ranks  be  seen  of  him; 

We  look  for  the  well-known  face, 
And  the  splendor  is  strangely  dim. 

Perished? — who  was  it  said 

Our  Loader  had  passed  away? 

Dead?      Our  President  dead? 
He  has  not  died  for  a  day ! 

We  mourn  for  a  little  breath 

Such  as,  late  or  soon,  dust  yields; 

But  the  Dark  Flower  of  Death 
Blooms  in  the  fadeless  fields. 

We  looked  on  a  cold,  still  brow, 
But  Lincoln  could  yet  survive; 
He  never  was  more  alive, 

Never  nearer  than  now. 

For  the  pleasant  season  found  him, 
Guarded   by    faithful   hands, 
In  the  fairest  of  Summer  Lands ; 

With  his  own  brave  Staff  around  liim. 
There  our  President  stands. 
[322] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

There  tliey  are  all  at  his  side,  f^ew 

The  noble  hearts  and  true,  World 

That  did  all  men  mieht  do —  <-,, 

^lory 

Then  slept,  with  their  swords,  and  died.  ^ 

•                •                •                 •                .  ▼ 

Henry  Hoavaud  Brownell. 


0  Captain  !  My  C  apt  am  ! 

O  Captain !  my  Captain  !  our  fearful  trip  is  done, 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we 


sought  is  won. 


The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people 

all  exulting. 
While  follow  eyes  tlie  steady  keel,  the  vessel 

grim  and  daring; 

But  O  heart!  heart f  heart! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red. 
Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 

Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

O  Captain !  my  Captain !  rise  up  and  hear  the 

bells ; 
Rise  up — for  yon  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the 
bugle  trills, 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for 

3^ou  the  shores  a-crowding. 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their 
eager  faces  turning; 
[323] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Nerv  Here,  Captain  !  dear  father ! 

?^ff,j  This  arm  beneath  your  head! 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck, 


Glory 


You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale 

and  still. 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  puW 
nor  will, 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage 

closed  and  done. 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with 
ob j  ect  won  ; 

Exult,  O  shores !  and  ring,  O  bells ! 

But  I  with  mournful  tread. 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 

Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

Walt  Whitman, 


The  Flag  Goes  By 

Hats  off! 
Along  the  street  there  comes 
A  blare  of  bugles,  a  ruffle  of  drums, 
A  flash  of  color  beneath  the  sky: 

Hats  off! 
The  flag  is  passing  by ! 

[324] 


and  Old 
Glory 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Blue  and  crimson  and  white  it  shines,  Neiv 

Over  the  steel-tipped,  ordered  lines.  ^^['^i'!. 

Hats  off! 
The  colors  before  us  fly ; 
But  more  than  the  flag  is  passing  by. 

Sea-fights  and  land-fights,  grim  and  great, 
Fought  to  make  and  to  save  the  State: 
Weary  marches  and  sinking  ships; 
Cheers  of  victory  on  dying  lips; 

Days  of  plenty  and  years  of  peace; 
March  of  a  strong  land's  swift  increase; 
Equal  justice,  right  and  law. 
Stately  honor  and  reverend  awe; 

Sign  of  a  nation,  great  and  strong 

To  ward  her  people  from  foreign  wrong: 

Pride  and  glory  and  honor, — all 

Live  in  the  colors  to  stand  or  fall. 

Hats  off! 
Along  the  street  there  comes 
A  blare  of  bugles,  a  ruffle  of  drums; 
And  loyal  hearts  are  beating  high: 

Hats  off! 
The  flag  is  passing  by ! 

Henry  Holcomb  Bennett. 


335 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

^^  The  Black  Rc^'uncnt 

World  ^ 

and  Old  Dark  as  the  clouds  of  even, 

Glorif  Ranked  in  the  western  heaven, 

1^  Waiting  the  breath  that  hfts 

All  tlie  dead  mass,  and  drifts 

TenTiear  and  falling  brand 

Over  a  ruined  land, — 

So  stiHl  and  orderly, 

Arm  to  arm,  knee  to  knee, 

Waiting  the  great  event. 

Stands  the  black  regiment. 

Down  the  long  duskj-  line 
Teeth  gleam,  and  eyeballs  shin«v  ? 
And  tlie  bright  bayonet. 
Bristling  and  firmly  set, 
Flashed  with  a  purpose  grand. 
Long  ere  the  sharp  command 
Of  the  fierce  rolling  drum 
Told  them  their  time  had  come, 
Told  them  what  work  was  sent 
For  the  black  reg-iment. 

"  Now!  "  the  flag-sergeant  cried, 
"  Though  death  and  hell  betide, 
Let  the  whole  nation  see 
If  w^e  are  fit  to  be 
Free  in  this  land ;  or  bound 
Down,  like  the  whining  hound, — 
[326] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Bound  with  red  stripes  of  pain  -J/^, 

111-  •     >/  World 

In  our  cold  chains  again!  and     Old 

Oh,  what  a  shout  there  went  Glory 

From  the  black  regiment! 

"Charge!"  trump  and  drum  awoke; 
Onward  the  bondsmen  broke; 
Bayonet  and  sabre-stroke 
Vainly  opposed  their  rush. 
Through  the  wild  battle's  crush, 
With  but  one  thought  aflush. 
Driving  their  lords  like  chaff. 
In  the  gun's  mouth  they  laugh; 
Or  at  the  slippery  brands. 
Leaping  with  open  hands, 
Down  they  tear  man  and  horse, 
Down  in  their  awful  course; 
Trampling  with  bloody  heel 
Over  the  crushing  steel, — 
All  their  eyes  forward  bent. 
Rushed  the  black  regiment. 

"Freedom!"  their  battle-cry. — 
"Freedom!  or  leave  to  die!" 
Ah,  and  thev  meant  the  word! 
Not  as  with  us  it  is  heard, — 
Not  a  mere  party  shout; 
They  gave  their  spirits  out, 
Trusting  the  end  to  God, 

And  on  the  gory  sod 

[327] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

New  Rolled  in  triumphant  blood. 

World  Glad  to  strike  one  free  blow, 

py  Whether  for  weal  or  woe; 

Glad  to  breathe  one  free  breath, 
Though  on  the  lips  of  death; 
Praying— alas,  in  vain  ! — 
That  they  might  fall  again, 
So  they  could  once  more  see 
That  burst  to  liberty ! 
This  was  what  "  freedom  "  lent 
To  the  black  regimeni 


it. 


Hundreds  on  hundreds  fell; 
But  they  are  resting  well : 
Scourges,  and  shackles  strong, 
Never  shall  do  them  wrong. 
Oh,  to  the  living  few. 
Soldiers,  be  just  and  true! 
Hail  them  as  comrades  tried; 
Fight  with  them  side  by  side; 
Never,  in  field  or  tent. 
Scorn  the  black  regiment! 

George  Henry  BoKEa. 


|3ij8) 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Night  Quarters  New 

World 
Tang !  tang !  went  the  gong's  wild  roar  ^^„^  q/j 

Through  the  hundred  cells  of  our  great  Sea-     Ghyy 
'  Hive!  ^ 

Five  seconds — it  couldn't  be  more — 

And    the    whole    Swarm    was    humming    and 
alive — 

(We  were  on  an  enemy's  shore.) 

With  savage  haste,  in  the  dark, 
(Our  steerage  hadn't  a  spark,) 
Into  boot  and  hose  they  blundered — 
From  for'ard  came  a  strange,  low  roar, 
The  dull  and  smothered  racket 
Of  lower  rig  and  jacket 
Hurried  on,  by  the  hundred, 
How  the  berth  deck  buzzed  and  swore! 

The  third  of  minutes  ten. 

And  half  a  thousand  men. 

From  the  dream-gulf,  dead  and  deep, 

Of  the  seamen's  measured  sleep, 

In  the  taking  of  a  lunar, 

In  the  serving  of  a  ration, 

Every  man  at  his  station! — 
Three  and  a  quarter,  or  sooner! 

Never  a  skulk  to  be  seen — 
From  the  look-out  aloft  to  the  gunner 

Lurking  in  his  black  magazinei 
[3291 


Glory 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

yr.P  There  they  stand,  still  as  death, 

IVorlu  And,  (a  trifle  out  of  breath, 

""^i^J^  It  may  be,)  ^ve  of  the  Staff, 

All  on  the  poop,  to  a  minute, 
Wonder  if  there's  anything  in  it- 
Doubting  if  to  growl  or  laugh. 

But,  somehow,  every  hand 

Feels  for  hilt  and  brand, 
Tries  if  buckle  and  frog  be  tight, — 

So,  in  the  chilly  breeze,  we  stand. 
Peering  through  the  dimness  of  the  night— 

The  men  by  twos  and  ones. 

Grim  and  silent  at  the  guns. 
Ready,  if  a  Foe  heave  in  sight! 

But,  as  we  look  aloft, 
There,  all  white  and  soft, 

Floated  on  the  fleecy  clouds, 
(Stray  flocks  in  heaven's  blue  croft) — 
How  they  shone,  the  eternal  stars, 
'Mid  the  black  masts  and  spars 

And  the  great  maze  of  lifts  and  shrouds ! 
Henry  Howard  Browneli,. 
(Flaff  Ship  '^  Hartf&rd,"  May,  I864.J 


[330] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Battle-IIymn  of  tlie  Eepublic  New 

Mine  ejes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  ^^^^^  q^ 
the   Lord ;  Glo/y 

He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes       ^ 
of  wrath  arc  stored, 

He   hath  loosed  the   fateful   lightning   of  His 
terrible  swift   sword ; 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred 

circling  camps ; 
Tliey  have  buildcd  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening 

dews  and  damps, 
1  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and 

flaring  lamps ; 

His  day  is  marching  on. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  burnished  rows 

of  steel ; 
'*  As  ye  deal  with  My  contemners,  so  with  j^ou 

My  grace  shall  deal: 
Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent 

with  his  heel, 

Since  God  is  marching  on." 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  sl.all  never 

call  retreat; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His 

judgment-seat: 

i  331  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

New      Oh,    be    swift,    my    soul,    to    answer    Him, — ^be 

World  jubilant,  my   feet! 

and  Old  „       ^^    i  •  i  • 

^1  Our  CjocI  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beautv  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across 

the  sea. 
With  a   glory   in   His  bosom  that  transfigures 

you  and  me: 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to 
make  men   free, 

Wiiile  God  is  marching  on. 

Julia  Ward  Howe. 


Sheridan'' s  Ride  * 
October  19,  1864. 

Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day, 
Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay. 
The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 
Like  a  herald  in  haste,  to  the  chieftain's  door. 
The  terrible  grumble,  and  rumble,  and  roar. 
Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar; 

•  ^  courtesy  of  J.  B.  Lippincott  ^  Co. 

[332] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled  New 

The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled,  World 

Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold,  Gloru 

As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 


And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 

A  good  broad  highway  leading  down; 

And  there,  through  the  flash  of  the  morning  light, 

A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night 

Was  seen  to  pass  as  with  eagle  flight; 

As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need, 

He  stretched  away  with  the  utmost  speed ; 

Hills  rose  and  fell — but  his  heart  was  gay, 

With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprung  from  those  swift  hoofs,  thundering 

South, 
The  dust,  like  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth ; 
On  the  tail  of  a  comet,  sweeping  faster  and  faster. 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster. 
The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls. 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battlefield  calls; 
Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full 

play, 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spuming  feet  the  road 

Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 

[333] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Neny     And  tfie  fandsccape  flowed  away  behind, 
World    Lij^p  ,^j^  ocean  flying  before  the  wind; 
md  Old  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^   j.^^  ^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^,j^j^  furnace  Ire^ 
(jiory 
^'      Swept  on  with  his  wild  eyes  full  of  fire; 

•         But  lo !  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire, 

He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 
With  Sheridan  only  five  nules  away. 

The  first  that  the  General  saw  vrere  the  groups 
Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops. 
What  was  done  ?  what  to  do  ?     A  glance  told  hiiP 

both. 
Then,  striking  his  spurs,  with  a  terrible  oath, 
He  dashed  down  the  line,  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas. 
And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there, 

because 
The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  t&  pause. 
With  foam  and  v.ith  dust  the  black  charger  was 

gray ; 
By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  the  red  nostril's  play; 
He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say, 
"  I  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way 
From  Winchester  down  to  save  the  day ! " 

Hurrah !  hurrah  for  Sheridan ! 
Hurrah !  hurrah  for  horse  and  man ! 
And  Avhcn  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 
Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sk}^ 
The  American  soldier's  Temple  of  Fame,— » 
There  with  the  glorious  General's  name, 

[  334  ] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Be  it  said,  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright.  New 

"Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day  SnU 

By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight,  Glory 

From  Winchester,  twenty  miles  away!"  ^ 
Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


Song  of  the  Negro  Boatman 

O,  praise  an'  tanks!     De  Lord  he  come 

To  set  de  people  free; 
An'  massa  tink  it  day  ob  doom, 

An '  we  ob  jubilee. 
De  Lord  dat  heap  de  Red  Sea  waves 

He  jus'  as  'trong  as  den; 
He  say  de  word:  we  las'  night  slaves; 
To-day,  de  Lord's  freemen. 

De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow. 

We'll  hab  de  rice  an'  corn; 
O  nebber  you  fear,  if  nebber  you  hear 
De  driver  blow  his  horn ! 

Ole  massa  on  he  trabbels  gone; 

He  leaf  de  land  behind: 
De  Lord's  breff  blow  him  furder  on. 

Like  corn-shuck  in  de  wind. 
We  own  de  hoe,  we  own  de  plough. 

We  own  de  hands  dat  hold; 
[335  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

!Sew  We  sell  de  pig,  we  sell  de  cow, 

iVorld  But-  nebber  chile  be  sold. 

,..  De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow, 

^  We'll  hab  de  rice  an'  corn; 

•  O  nebber  you  fear,  if  nebber  you  hear 

De  driver  blow  his  horn! 


We  pray  de  Lord:  he  gib  us  signs 

Dat  some  day  we  be  free; 
De  norf-wind  tell  it  to  de  pines, 

De  wild-duck  to  de  sea; 
We  tink  it  when  de  church-bell  ring, 

We  dream  it  in  de  dream; 
De  rice-bird  mean  it  when  he  sing, 
De  eagle  when  he  scream. 

De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow, 

We'll  hab  de  rice  an'  corn; 
O  nebber  you  fear,  if  nebber  you  heal 
De  driver  blow  his  horn! 

We  know  de  promise  nebber  fail, 

An'  nebber  lie  de  word ; 
So  like  de  'postles  in  de  jail. 

We  waited  for  de  Lord: 
An'  now  he  open  ebery  door, 

An'  trow  away  de  key; 
He  tink  we  lub  him  so  before, 

We  lub  him  better  free. 
[3361 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow,  ^em 

He'll  gib  de  rice  an'  corn ;  iVorni 

O  nebber  j^ou  tear,  it  ncbber  you  near  (jion 
De  driver  blow  his  horn ! 


John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 
From  "At  Port  RoyaV 

r 

Barbara  Frietchie 

Up  from  the  meadows  rich  with  com, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn. 

The  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand 
Green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach  tree  fruited  deep, 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord, 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall 
When  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain  wall,- 

Over  the  mountains,  winding  down. 
Horse  and  foot  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars. 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapped  in  the  morning  w  ind ;  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one, 

[337] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

New  Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  llicn, 

Wo-^ld        Bowed  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten; 
tmd  Old 
Glory         Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

^  She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  hauled  down; 

In  her  attic-window  the  staff  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 

Under  his  slouch  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced:  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

"  Halt!  " — the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast; 
"  Fire !  " — out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 

It  shivered  the  window-  pane  and  sash; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick,  as  it  fell,  from  the  broken  staffs 
Dame  Barbara  snatched  the  silken  scarf; 

She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill. 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"  Shoot,  if  3^ou  must,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame. 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came; 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirred 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word: 

[338] 


GOLDEN    LUMBERS 

"  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head  "Nev) 

Dies  like  a  dog!     March  on!"  he  said.  World 

and  Old 
All  day  long  through  Frederick  street  Gloi-y 

Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet;  ST 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tost 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Slionc  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her!  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,   on   Stonewall's  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  jrrave, 
Flag  of  freedom  and  union  wave! 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  t'ly  s^^mbol  of  light  and  law; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittieb.. 


t339l 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

New  Two  Veterans 

World 
and  Old  The  last  sunbeam 

Glory    Lightly  falls  from  the  finished  Sabbath, 

On  the  pavement  here,   and  there  beyond  it  is 

looking 

Down  a  new-made  double  grave. 

Lo!  the  moon   ascending, 
Up  from  the  east  the  silvery  round  moon. 
Beautiful  over  the  house-tops,  ghastly,  phantom 
moon, 

Immense  and  silent  moon. 

I  see  a  sad  procession, 
And  I  hear  the  sound  of  coming  full-keyed  bugles. 
All  the  channels  of  the  cit}^  streets  thej'^'re  flood- 
ing, 

As  with  voices  and  with  tears. 

I  hear  the  great  drums  pounding. 
And  the  small  drums  steady  whirring, 
And  every  blow  of  the  great  convulsive  drums 

Strikes  me  through  and  through. 

For  the  son  is  brought  with  the  father, 
( In  the  foremost  ranks  of  the  fierce  assault  they 

fell. 
Two  veterans,  son  and  father,  dropt  together. 
And  the  double  grave  awaits  them), 
[S40] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Now  nearer  blow  the  bugles,  New 

And  the  drums  strike  more  convulsive,  j     r^u 

'  and      Old 

And  the  daylight  o'er  the  pavement  quite  has     Glory 


faded, 
And  the  strong  dead-march  enwraps  me. 

In  the  eastern  sky  up-buoying, 
The  sorrowful  vast  phantom  moves  illumined, 
('Tis  some  mother's  large  transparent  face 

In  heaven  brighter  growing). 

O  strong  dead-march  you  please  me! 
O  moon  immense  with  your  silvery  face  you  soothe 

me! 
O  my  soldiers  twain!     O  my  veterans  passing  to 
burial ! 
What  I  have  I  also  give  you. 

The  moon  gives  you  light, 
And  the  bugles  and  the  drums  give  you  music. 
And  my  heart,  O  my  soldiers,  my  veterans, 

My  heart  gives  you  love. 

Walt  Whitman. 

r 


r 


[ill) 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

New  Stand  hy  the  Flag  I 

World 

and     OW Stand  by  the  Flag!     Its  stars,  like  meteors  gleam- 
Glory 

T  Have  lighted  Arctic  icebergs,  southern  seas, 

And  shone  responsive  to  the  stormy  beaming 
Of  old  Arcturus  and  the  Pleiades. 

Stand  by  the  Flag!     Its  stripes  have  streamed 
in  glory, 

To  foes  a  fear,  to  friends  a  festal  robe. 
And  spread  in  rhythmic  lines  the  sacred  story 

Of  Freedom's  triumphs  over  all  the  globe. 

Stand  by  the  Flag!     On  land  and  ocean  billow 
By  it  your  fathers  stood  unmoved  and  true, 

Living,  defended;  dying,  from  their  pillow. 
With  their  last  blessing,  passed  it  on  to  you. 

Stand  by  the  Flag!     Immortal  heroes  bore  it 
Through    sulphurous    smoke,    deep    moat    and 
armed  defence; 
And  their  imperial  Shades  still  hover  o'er  it 
A  guard  celestial  from  Omnipotence. 

John  Nichols  Wilder. 


[342] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

At  Gib'-altar*  New 

World 
I  and  Old 

England,  I  stand  on  thy  imperial  ground, 

Not  all  a  stranger;  as  thy  bugles  blow,  w 

I  feel  within  my  blood  old  battles  flow — 

The  blood  Avhose  ancient  founts  in  thee  are  found. 

Still  surging  dark  against  the  Christian  bound 
Wide  Islam  presses ;  well  its  people  know 
Thy  heights  that  watch  them  wandering  be- 
low ; 

1   think    how    Lucknow   heard   their   gathering 
sound. 

I  turn,  and  meet  the  cruel,  turbaned  face. 

England,  'tis  sweet  to  be  so  much  thy  son! 
I  feel  the  conqueror  in  my  blood  and  race ; 

Last  night  Trafalgar  awed  me,  and  to-day 
Gibraltar  wakened;  hark,  thy  evening  gun 

Startles  the  desert  over  Africa ! 

George  Edward  Woodberry. 


*  Taken  from  '■* North  Shore  Watch  and  Other  Poems^ 
(copyrighted  1800).  By  co-wrtesy  of  The  Macmillan  Conv^ 
pany. 


?.^4S 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Kerv  At  Gibraltar 

World 
and  Old  II 

^^    Thou  art  the  rock  of  empire,  set  mid-seas 
f  Between  the   East   and  West,  that  God  has 

built ; 
Advance  thy  Roman  borders  where  thou  wilt, 
While  run  thy  armies  true  with  his  decrees; 
Law,  justice,  liberty — great  gifts  are  these; 
Watch  that  they  spread  where  English  blood 

is  spilt. 
Lest,  mixed  and  sullied  with  his  country's  guilt, 
The  soldier's  life-stream  flow,  and  Heaven  dis- 
please ! 

Two  swords  there  are:  one  naked,  apt  to  smite, 

Thy  blade  of  war;  and,  battle-storied,  one 
Rejoices  in  the  sheath,  and  hides  from  light. 

American  I  am ;  would  wars  were  done ! 
Now   westward,   look,   my    country    bids    good- 
right — 
Peace  to  the  world  from  ports  without  a  gun! 
George  Edward  Woodberry. 


[344] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Faith  and  Freedom  New 

We  must  be  free  or  die,  who  speak  the  tongue      ^,^^  qi^ 
That  Shakespeare  spake;  the  faith  and  morals     Gloiy 
hold 

Which  Milton  held 

William  Wordsworth. 


Our  Mother  Tongue 

Beyond  the  vague  Atlantic  deep, 
Far  as  the  farthest  prairies  sweep, 
Where  forest-glooms  the  nerve  appal, 
Where  burns  the  radiant  western  fall, 
One  duty  lies  on  old  and  young, — 
With  filial  piety  to  guard. 
As  on  its  greenest  native  sward. 
The  glory  of  the  English  tongue. 
That  ample  speech !    That  subtle  speech ! 
Apt  for  the  need  of  all  and  each: 
Strong  to  endure,  yet  prompt  to  bend 
Wherever  human  feelings  tend. 
Preserve  its  force — expand  its  powers; 
And  through  the  maze  of  civic  life. 
In  Letters,  Commerce,  even  in  Strife, 
Forget  not  it  is  yours  and  ours. 

Lord  Houghton. 
(Richard  Monckton  Milnes.) 
[345] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


New  The  English  Language 

World 

arid  Old  Give  me  of  every  language,  lirst  my  vigorout 
^^^  English 

Stored  with  imported  wealth,  rich  in  its  natural 

mines — 
Grand    in    its    rhythmical    cadence,    simple    for 

household  employment — 
Worthy  the  poet's  song,  fit  for  the  speech  of  a 
man. 


Fitted  for  every  use  like  a  great  majestical  river, 
Blending  thy  various  streams,  stately  thou  flow- 

est  along. 
Bearing  the  white-winged  sliip  of  Poesy  over  thy 

bosom. 
Laden  with  spices  that  come  out  of  the  tropical 

isles. 
Fancy's   pleasuring  yacht  with  its  bright  and 

fluttering  pennons, 
Logic's  frigates  of  war  and  the  toil-worn  barges 

of  trade. 

How  art  thou  freely  obedient  unto  the  poet  or 

speaker 
When,  111  a  happ}'  hour,  thought  into  speech  he 

translates ; 

[34e  I 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Caught   on   the   word's  shai-p   angles   flash   the  Kerv 

bright  hues  of  his  fancy —  World 

Grandly  the  thought  rides  the  words,  as  a  good  '^'A; 

horseman  his  steed.  ^ 

•                •                ♦                •                .  "^ 

William  Wetmore  Story. 


To  America 
On  a  Proposed  Alliance  Between  Two  Great  Nations. 
What  is  the  voice  I  hear 

On  the  winds  of  the  western  sea? 
Sentinel,   listen  from  out  Cape  Clear 
And  say  what  the  voice  may  be, 
'Tis  a  proud  free  people   calling  loud  to  a 
people  proud  and  free. 

And  it  says  to  them :    "  Kinsmen,  hail ; 

We  severed  have  been  too  long. 
Now  let  us  have  done  with  a  worn-out  tal*^ — 

The  tale  of  ancient  wrong — 

And  our  friendship  last  long  as  our  love  doth 
and  be  stronger  than  death  is  strong." 

Answer  them,  sons  of  the  self-same  race, 

And  blood  of  the  self-same  clan; 
Let  us  speak  with  each  other  face  to  face 
And  answer  as  man  to  man, 
And  loyally  love  and  trust  each  other  as  none 
but  free  men  can. 
(S47j 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

New     Now  fling  them  out  the  breeze, 
^or/</         Shamrock,  Thistle,  and  Rose, 
Gloru    -^"^    ^^^^    Star-Spangled    Banner    unfurl    with 
these — 


r 


A  message  to  friends  and  foes 
Wherever  the  sails  of  peace  are  seen  and  wher- 
ever the  war  wind  blows — 

A  message  to  bond  and  thrall  to  wake, 
For  wherever  we  come,  we  twain. 

The  throne  of  the  tyrant  shall  rock  and  quake. 
And  his  menace  be  void  and  vain, 
For  you  are  lords  of  a  strong  land  and  we  are 
lords  of  the  main. 

Yes,  this  is  the  voice  of  the  bluff  March  gale ; 

We  severed  have  been  too  long, 
But  now  we  have  done  with  a  worn-out  tale — 
The  tale  of  an  ancient  wrong — 
Anu  uar  friendship  last  long  as  love  doth  last 
and  stronger  than  death  is  strong. 

Alfred  Austin. 


iH^] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Name  of  Old  Glory  Ketv 

1898  World 

and  Old 
Old  Glory!  say,  who  Glory 

By  the  ships  and  the  crew,  ^ 

And  the  long,  blended  ranks  of  the  Gray  and  the 

Blue— 
Who  gave  you  Old  Glory,  the  name  that  you  bear 
With  such  pride  everywhere. 
As  you  cast  yourself  free  to  the  rapturous  air, 
And  leap  out  full  length,  as  we're  wanting  you 

to?— 

Who  gave  you  that  name,  with  the  ring  of  the 
same, 

And  the  honor  and  fame  so  becoming  to  you? 

Your  stripes  stroked  in  ripples  of  white  and  of 
red. 

With  your  stars  at  their   glittering  best  over- 
head— 

By  day  or  by  night 

Their  delightfulest  light 

Laughing  down  from  their  little  square  heaven 
of  blue! 

Who  gave  you  the  name  of   Old  Glory — say, 

I  who— 

Who  gave  you  the  name  of  Old  Glory? 

The  old  banner  lifted  and  faltering  then 
In  vague  lisps  and  whispers  fell  silent  again. 

[349] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

New     Old  Glory :  the  story  we're  wanting  to  hear 

norld    jg    ^]^at   the   plain    facts    of   your    christening 
and  Old 
Glory  were— ^ 

For  your  name — just  to  hear  It, 

Repeat  it,  and  cheer  it,  's  a  tang  to  the  spirit 

As  salt  as  a  tear ; — 

And  seeing  you  fly,  anc  the  boys  marching  by. 

There's  a  shout  in  the  throat  and  a  blur  in  the 

eye, 
And  an  aching  to  live  for  you  always — or  die, 
If,  dying,  we  still  keep  you  waving  on  high. 
And  so,  by  our  Icvc 
For  you,  floating  above. 

And  the  scars  of  all  wars  and  the  sorrow  thereof, 
Who  gave  you  the  name  of  Old  Glory,  and  why 
Are  we  thrilled  at  the  name  of  Old  Glory? 

Then  the  old  banner  leaped  like  a  sail  in  the 

blast 
And  f uttered  an  audible  answer  at  last. 

And  it  spake  with  a  shake  of  the  voice,  and  it 
said : 

By  the  driven  snow-white  and  the  living  blood- 
red 

Of  my  bars  and  their  heaven  of  stars  overhead — 

By  the  symbol  conjoined  of  them  all,  skyward 
cast, 

As  I  float  from  the  steeple  or  flap  at  the  mast, 

[350] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Or  droop  o'er  the  sod  where  the  long  grasses  New 
r.r.A  World 

^l'^'-  and     Old 

My  name  is  as  old  as  the  glory  of  God.  Glory 

.     .     .     So  I  came  by  the  name  of  Old  Glory.  2^ 

James  Whitcomb  Riley. 
From  "Home  Folks." 


135111 


M 


INTERLEAVES 

In  Merry  Mood 

"  Then  cast  aicay  care,  let  sorrow  cease, 
A  fig  for  melancholy. ^^ 

All  rules  are  suspended,  grave  affairs  of  state  are  laid 
aside,  and  the  Court  Jester  demands  a  hearing.  Is  it 
my  fancy,  or  do  young  eyes  brighten,  rosy  cheeks  dim- 
ple, lips  part  a  little  when  he  approaches  ? 
Clad  all  in  gay  motley,  swinging  his  bauble,  his  cap 
and  bells  making  merry  music,  he  bounds  upon  the  stage 
and  bids  us  listen  to  his  quips  and  jokes.  He  is  by 
turns  Puck  and  Ariel,  Harlequin,  Punchinello,  and  Court 
Fool.  "Touchstone"  we  well  may  call  him,  this  man  of 
mirth,  for  when  he  tests  the  world's  metal  the  pure  gold 
of  laughter  shines  out  from  the  alloy.  Seeing  us  smile 
even  before  he  opens  his  lips  he  assumes  a  solemn  atti- 
tude and  cries: 

"Good  people  all,  of  every  sort. 
Give  ear  ujito  my  song; 
And  if  you  find  it  tvondrous  short 
It  will  not  hold  you  long." 

Theti  hark  how  the  "  light-heeled  numbers  laughing 
go!"  He  tells  us  tales  that  smooth  out  the  wrinkles  of 
dull  Care  and  provoke  Laughter  to  hold  both  his  sides,  as 
well  as  others  less  jolly  but  ftdl  of  wit  arid  good  cheer. 
A  quaint,  breezy  moral,  too,  creeps  in  here  and  there, 
for  the  Court  Fool,  if  you  study  him  well,  is  sometimes 
a  preacher;  but  whether  frolicking  or  preaching  or 
'philosophizing,  he  brings  with  him,  like  Milton  s  nymph: 

"Jest  and  youthful  jollify. 
Quips  and  cranks,  arid  xoanton  Wiles, 
Nods  and  Becks  and  Wreathed  Smiles, 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek." 


:n  merry  M00i,> 

r    r 
r 

On  a  Favorite  Cat,  Drowned  m  a  Tub  sf 
Goldfishes 

A   WAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed. 
The  azure  flowers  that  blow, 
Demurest  of  the  tabbv  kind. 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 
Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared: 
The  fair,  round  face,  the  snowy  beard. 
The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, — 
She  saw,  and  purred  applause. 

Still  had  she  gazed,  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide, 
The  Genii  of  the  stream : 
Their  scaly  armor's  Tyrian  hue, 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 
Betrayed  a  golden  gleara» 

[353] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry      The  hapless  Nymph  with  wonder  saw : 
Mood         ^  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 
With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched,  in  vain,  to  reach  the  prize,- 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise? 
What  cat's  averse  to  fish  ? 

Jpresumptuous  maid!  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretched,  again  she  bent, 
Nor  knew  the  gulf  between, — 
Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled, — 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled; 
She  tumbled  headlong  in! 

Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood. 
She  mewed  to  every  watery  god 
Some  speedy  aid  to  send : 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirred, 
Nor  cruel  Tom  nor  Susan  heard, — 
A  favorite  has  no  friend ! 

From  hence,  ye  Beauties!  undeceived, 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er   retrieved. 
And  be  with  caution  bold : 
Not  all  tliat  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
Ana    heedless   hearts   is   lawful   prize, 
Nor  all  that  glitters  gold ! 

Thomas  Gray. 


[354  ] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Priest  and  the  Mulberry  Tree  In  Merry 

Did  you  hear  of  the  curate  who  mounted  his  mare,    -^^''"" 

And  merrily  trotted  along  to  the  fair? 

Of  creature  more  tractable  none  ever  heard  ; 

In  the  height  of  her  speed  she  would  stop  at  a 

word ; 
But  again  with  a  word,  wlien  the  curate  said, 

"  Hey," 
She  put  forth  her  mettle  and  gallop'd  away. 

As  near  to  the  gates  of  the  city  he  rode. 
While  the  sun  of  September  all  brilliantly  glow'd, 
The  good  priest  discover'd,  with  eyes  of  desire, 
A  mulberry  tree  in  a  hedge  of  wild  brier ; 
On  boughs  long  and  lofty,  in  many  a  greer.  shoot, 
Hung,  large,  black  and  glossy,  the  beautiful 
fruit. 

The  curate  was  hungry  and  thirsty  to  boot ; 
He  shrunk  from  the  thorns,  though  he  long'd 

for  the  fruit ; 
With  a  word  he  arrested  his  courser's  keen  speed, 
And  he  stood  up  erect  on  the  back  of  his  steed ; 
On  the  saddle  he  stood  while  the  creature  stood 

still, 
And  he  gather'd  the  fruit  till  he  took  his  good  fill. 

"  Sure  never,"  he  thought,  "  was  a  creature  so 

rare. 
So  docile,  so  true,  as  my  excellent  mare ; 

[  355  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

/n  Merry  Lo,  here  now  I  stand,"  and  he  gazed  all  around, 
Mood     "  ^g  gaf e  and  as  steady  as  if  on  the  ground ; 

Yet  how  had  it  been,  if  some  traveller  this  way, 
Had,  dreaming  no  mischief,  but  chanced  to  cry, 
'Hey'?" 

He  stood  with  his  head  in  the  mulberry  tree, 

And  he  spoke  out  aloud  in  his  fond  revery ; 

At  the  sound  of  the  word  the  good  mare  made  a 

push. 
And  down  went  the  priest  in  the  wild-brier  bush. 
He  remember'd  too  late,  on  his  thorny  green  bed, 
Much  that  well  may  be  thought  cannot  wisely  be 

said. 

Thomas  Love  Peacock. 


The  Council  of  Horses 

Upon  a  time  a  neighing  steed, 
Who  graz'd  among  a  numerous  breed, 
With  mutiny  had  fired  the  train, 
And  spread  dissension  through  the  plain 
On  matters  that  concern'd  the  state. 
The  council  met  in  grand  debate. 
A  colt  whose  eyeballs  flamed  with  ire. 
Elate  with  strength  and  youthful  fire. 
In  haste  stept  forth  before  the  rest. 
And  thus  the  listening  throng  address'd. 

[  356] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  Goodness,  how  abject  is  our  race,  h.  Merr^ 

Condcmn'd  to  slavery  and  disgrace!  Mood 

Shall  we  our  servitude  retain,  ^ 

Because  our  sires  have  borne  the  chain? 
Consider,  friends !  your  strength  and  might ; 
'Tis  conquest  to  assert  your  right. 
How  cumbrous  is  the  gilded  coach! 
The  pride  of  man  is  our  reproach. 
Were  we  design'd  for  daily  toil, 
To  drag  the  ploughshare  through  the  soil, 
To  sweat  in  harness  through  the  road, 
To  groan  beneath  the  carrier's  load? 
How  feeble  are  the  two-legg'd  kind! 
What  force  is  in  our  nerves  combin'd! 
Shall  then  our  nobler  jaws  submit 
To  foam  and  champ  the  galling  bit? 
Shall  haughty  man  my  back  bestride? 
Shall  the  sharp  spur  provoke  my  side? 
Forbid  it,  heavens!  reject  the  rein; 
Your  shame,  your  Infamy,  disdain. 
Let  him  the  lion  first  control. 
And  still  the  tiger's  famish'd  growl. 
Let  us,  like  them,  our  freedom  claim. 
And  make  him  tremble  at  our  name.** 

A  general  nod  approv'd  the  cause, 

And  all  the  circle  neigh'd  applause. 

When  lo!  with  grave  and  solemn  pace, 

A  steed  advanc'd  before  the  race, 

[357] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Mery-y      With  age  and  long  experience  wise ; 
Mood         Around  he  cast  his  thoughtful  eyes, 
And,  to  the  murmurs  of  the  train, 
Thus  spoke  the  Nestor  of  the  plain. 

'•  When  I  had  health  and  strength  like  you 
The  toils  of  servitude  I  knew; 
Now  grateful  man  rewards  my  pains. 
And  gives  me  all  these  wide  domains. 
At  will  I  crop  the  3'ear's  increase ; 
My  latter  life  is  rest  and  peace. 
I  grant,  to  man  we  lend  our  pains, 
And  aid  him  to  correct  the  plains; 
But  doth  not  he  divide  the  care, 
Through  all  the  labours  of  the  year.^ 
How  many  thousand  structures  rise. 
To  fence  us  from  inclement  skies ! 
For  us  he  bears  the  sultry  day. 
And  stores  up  all  our  winter's  hay. 
He  sows,  he  reaps  the  harvest's  gain; 
We  share  the  toil  and  share  the  grain. 
Since   every  creature  was  decreed 
To  aid  each  other's  mutual  need, 
Appease  your  discontented  mind. 
And  act  the  part  by  heaven  assign'd." 

The  tunmlt  ccas'd,  the  colt  submitted, 
And,  like  his  ancestors,  was  bitted. 

John  Gay. 


C  358  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Diverting  HiMory  of  John  Giljnn  In  Merry 

ing  How  He  Went  Farther  Than  He  Intended,  and     ^^^^ 
Came  Safe  Home  Again.  Y 


John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train-band  Captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear, 
"  Though  wedded  we  have  been 

These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 
No  holiday  have  seen. 

To-morrow  is  our  wedding  day. 

And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton, 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

My  sister  and  my  sister's  child, 
Myself  and  children  three, 

Will  fill  the  chaise,  so  you  must  ride 
On  horseback  after  we." 

He  soon  replied,—"  I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one. 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dearj 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

I  am  a  linen-draper  bold. 
As  all  the  world  doth  knowj 
r  359  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry  And  my  good  friend  the  Calender 
Mood         Will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 


r 


Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin, — "  That's  well  said. 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnish'd  with  our  own, 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear." 

John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife; 

O'erjoyed  was  he  to  find 
That  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent, 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought, 

But  yet  was  not  allow'd 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off'  the  chaise  was  stay'd. 

Where  they  did  all  get  in ; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheeis» 

Were  never  folk  so  glad. 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 

^ohn  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side, 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again  J 

1360] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reach'd  had  he,  /«  Merrm 
His  journey  to  begin,  Mood 

When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw  S* 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came;  for  loss  of  time, 

Although  it  grieved  him  sore, 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew, 

Would  trouble  him  much  more. 

'T  was  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty  screaming,  came  downstairs, 

"  The  wine  is  left  behind !  " 

"  Good  lack !  "  quoth  he,  "  yet  bring  it  me. 

My  leathern  belt  likewise. 
In  wliich  I  bear  my  trusty  sword 

When  I  do  exercise." 

Now  mistress  Gilpin,  careful  soul! 

Had  two  stone  bottles  found. 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 

And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear. 

Through  which  the  belt  he  drew. 
And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side, 

To   make  his    balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 
Equipp'd  from  top  to  toe, 

£361) 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry  His  long  red  cloak,  well  brush'd  and  neat, 
Mood         He  manfully  did  throw. 


W 


Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But,  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  well-shod  feet. 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 

Which  gall'd  him  in  his   seat, 

So  "  Fair  and  softly,"  John  he  cried, 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

All  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

Who  cannot  sit  upright. 
He  grasp'd  the  mane  with  both  his  hands. 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought. 

Away  went  hat  and  wig! 
He  little  dreamt  when  he  set  out 

Of  running  such  a  rig ! 

[  362  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly,  In  Mcnj 
Like  streamer  long  and  gay,  Mood 

Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both,  ST 

At  last  it  flew  away. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

The  bottles  he  had  slung; 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side, 

As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  scream'd, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all. 
And  ev'ry  soul   cried  out,   "  Well  done ! " 

As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin — who  but  he.'' 

His  fame  soon  spread  around — 
**  He  carries  weight !  "     "  He  rides  a  race  \  '^ 

"  'T  is  for  a  thousand  pound !  " 

And  still,  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'T  was  wonderful  to  view. 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike-men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head    full  low. 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  roadg. 
Most  piteous  to  be  seen, 

[363  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry  Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 
Mood         ^g  ^Y\Qy  had  basted  been. 


r 


But  still  he  seem'd  to  carry  weight, 

With  leathern  girdle  braced, 
For  all  might  see  the  bottle-necks 

Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  he  did  play, 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay. 

And  there  he  threw  the  Wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild-goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wond'ring  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride, 

**  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  ! — Here's  the  house !  ** 

They  all  at  once  did  cry; 
**  The  dinner  waits  and  we  are  tired :  " 

Said  Gilpin—"  So  am  I !  " 

But  yet  his  'lorse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there; 
For  why? — his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware, 

[364] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew,  /n  Menu 
Shot  by  an  archer  strong;  Mo(Hi 

So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to  ^ 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  out  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  the  Calender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  Calender,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbour  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate, 

And  thus  accosted  him: — 

"  What  ncAvs  ?   what  news  ?   your  tidings  tell. 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bare-headed  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all?  " 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  loved  a  timely  joke, 
And  thus  unto  the  Calender 

Li  merry  guise  he  spoke: — 

"  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come; 

And  if  I  well  forebode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here. 

They  are  upon  the  road." 

The  Calender,  right  glad  to  find 
His  friend  in  merry  pin, 

[365] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merni  Return'd  him  not  a  single  word, 
Moo'i         By^  to  w^^  house  went  in ; 

'         Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig? 
A  wig  that  flow'd  behind, 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 
Thus  show'd  his  ready  wit: — 

"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours, 
They  therefore  needs  must  fit. 

But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 
That  hangs  upon  your  face; 

And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 
Be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John — "  It  is  my  wedding-day, 
And  all  the  world  Avould  stare, 

If  wife   should  dine  at  Edmonton, 
And  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

So,  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said — 

"  I  am  in  haste  to  dine ; 
'T  v.'i*s  for  your  pleasure  3'ou  came  here. 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine." 

Ah,  luckless  speech  and  bootless  boast! 

For  wliidi  he  paid  full  dear; 
For,  wliile  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear; 

[366] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he  In  Merrv 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar,  Mooa 

And  gallop'd  off  with  all  his  might,  ^ 
As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig! 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first, 

For  why? — they  were  too  big! 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 

Her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away, 

She  pull'd  out  half-a-crown ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell— 
"  This  shall   be  yours  when  you  bring  bacfe 

My  husband  safe  and  well." 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 

John  coming  back  amain ; 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop, 

By  catching  at  his  rein ; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant. 

And  gladly  would  have  done, 
The  friglired  steed  he  frighted  more, 

And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  post-boy   at  his  heels 

[367] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

in  Merry  The  post-boy's  horse  riglit  glad  to  miss 
Mood         The  lumb'ring  of  the  wheels. 


r 


Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road, 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  post-boy  scamp'ring  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry: — 

"  Stop  thief !  stop  thief — a  highwayman ! " 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute; 
And  all  and  each  that  pass'd  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space; 
The  toll-men  thinking,  as  before. 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too. 

For  he  got  first  to  town ; 
Nor  stopp'd  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing.  Long  live  the  king. 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he; 
And  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad, 

May  I  be  there  to  see ! 

William  Cowpee. 

r 


(368] 


GOLDEN   NUMBER 


Vk> 


To  a  Child  of  Quality  Jn  Mttty 

I<1ve  Years  Old,  1704.,  the  Author  Then  Forty.  ^"^ 

Lords,  knights,  and  squires,  the  numerous  band       ? 

That  wear  the  fair  Miss  IMary's  fetters, 
Were  summoned  by  her  high  command 

To  show  their  passion  by  their  letters. 

My  pen  amongst  the  rest  I  took, 

Lest  those  bright  eyes,  that  cannot  read. 

Should  dart  their  kindhng  fires,  and  look 
The  power  they  have  to  be  obey'd. 

Nor  quality,  nor  reputation, 

Forbid  me  yet  my  flame  to  tell ; 
Dear   Five-years-old  befriends   my   passIoH; 

And  I  may  write  till  she  can  spell. 

For,  while  she  makes  her  silkworms  beds 

With  all  the  tender  things  I  swear; 
Whilst  all  the  house  my  passion  reads. 

In  papers  round  her  babj^'s  hair; 

She  may  receive  and  own  my  flame; 

For,  though  the  strictest  prudes  should  know  it. 
She'll  pass  for  a  most  virtuous  dame, 

And  I  for  an  unhappy  poet. 

Then  too,  alas!  when  she  shall  tear 

The  rhymes  some  younger  rival  sends, 
She'll  give  me  leave  to  write,  I  fear, 

And  we  shall  still  continue  friends, 
i>  £369] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Tw  Merry  For,  as  our  different  ages  move, 
irj.(K)d         'Tis  so  ordained  (would  Fate  but  mend  it!), 
J*'       That  I  shall  be  past  making  love 

When  she  begins  to  comprehend  it. 

Matthew  Pkior. 


Charade 

(Campbell.) 
(Thomas  Campbell,  the  Poet.) 

Come  from  my  First,  ay,  come! 

For  the  battle  hour  is  nigh : 

And  the  screaming  trump  and  thundering  dnini 

Are  calling  thee  to  die ! 

Fight,  as  thy  father  fought ! 

Fall,  as  thy  father  fell ! 

Thy  task  is  taught,  thy  shroud  is  wrought; — 

So — onv%ard — and  farewell. 

Toll  ye  my  Second,  toll! 
Fling  wide  the  flambeau's  light, 
And  sing  the  hymn  for  a  parted  soul 
Beneath  the  silent  night. 
With  the  wreath  upon  his  head, 
And  the  cross  upon  his  breast. 
Let  the  prayer  be  said,  and  the  tear  be  shed ;— ^ 
So — take  him  to  his  rest ! 

[3701 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Call  ye  my  Whole, — ay,  call  In  Merry 

The  lord  of  lute  and  lay!  ■*^<'o<i 

And  let  him  greet  the  sable  pall  $ 

With  a  noble  song  to-day! 

Ay,  call  him  by  his  name! 

Nor  fitter  hand  may  crave 

To  light  the  flame  of  a  soldier's  fame 

On  the  turf  of  a  soldier's  grave. 

WiNTHROP   MaCKWORTH    PrAED. 

A   Riddle 

(A  Book) 

I'm  a  strange  contradiction;  I'm  new,  and  I'm 

old, 
I'm  often  in  tatters,  and  oft  decked  with  gold. 
Though   I   never   could   read,  yet  lettered   I'm 

found; 
Though  blind,  I  enlighten;  though  loose,  I  am 

bound, 
I'm  always  in  black,  and  I'm  always  in  white; 
I'm  grave  and  I'm  gay,  I  am  heavy  and  light — 
In  form  too  I  differ, — I'm  thick  and  I'm  thin, 
I've  no  flesh  and  no  bones,  yet  I'm  covered  with 

skin; 
I've  more  points  than  the  compass,  more  stops 

than  the  flute; 
I  sing  without  voice,  without  speaking  confute. 

1371] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

f«  Merry  I'm  English,  I'm  German,  I'm  French,  and  I'm 
^00^  Dutch ; 

#*        Some  love  me  too   fondly,  some  slight  me  too 
much ; 
T  often  die  soon,  though  I  sometimes  lives  ages, 
And  no  monarch  alive  has  so  many  pages. 

Hannah  More. 


A  Riddle 
(The  Vowels.) 

We  are  little  airy  creatures, 
All  of  different  voice  and  features ; 
One  of  us  in  glass  is  set, 
One  of  us  you'll  find  in  jet. 
T'other  you  may  see  in  tin, 
And  the  fourth  a  box  within. 
If  the  fifth  you  should  pursue, 
^t  oan  never  f[y  from  you. 

Jonathan  Swrrr. 


:^7sf 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Riddle  2u  Merry 

(The  Letter  H.)  Mjocf 

'Twas  whispered  in  Heaven,  'twas  muttered  in       ST 

hell, 
And  echo  caught  faintly  the  sound  as  it  fell; 
On  the  confines  of  earth  'twas  permitted  to  rest, 
And  the  depths  of  the  ocean  its  presence  con- 

f  ess'd ; 
'Twill  be  found   in  the  sphere  when  'tis  riven 

asunder. 
Be  seen  in  the  lightning  and  heard  in  the  thunder; 
'Twas  allotted  to  man  with  his  earliest  breath. 
Attends  him  at  birth  and  awaits  him  in  death, 
Presides  o'er  his  happiness,  honor  and  health. 
Is  the  prop  of  his  house,  and  the  end  of  his  wealth. 
In  the  heaps  of  the  miser  'tis  hoarded  with  care, 
But  is  sure  to  be  lost  on  his  prodigal  heir; 
It  begins  every  hope,  every  wish  it  must  bound, 
With  the  husbandman  toils,  and  with  monarchs 

is  crowned; 
Without  it  the  soldier  and  seaman  may  roam, 
But  woe  to  the  wretch  who  expels  it  from  home! 
In  the  whispers  of  conscience  its  voice  will  be 

found. 
Nor  e'er  in  the  whirlwind  of  passion  be  drowned ; 
*Twill  soften  the  heart ;  but  though  deaf  be  the 

ear. 
It  will  make  it  acutely  and  instantlj^  hear. 


GOI>DEN    NUMBERS 

hi  Merrif  Set  in  shade,  let  it  rest  like  a  delicate  flower ; 
MfH)d    ^j^i  breathe  on  it  softly,  it  dies  in  an  hour. 
<r  Catherine  M.  Fanshawe. 

Feigned  Courage 

Horatio,  of  ideal  courage  vain. 
Was  flourishing  in  air  his  fa-tl.cr's  cane. 
And,  as  the  fumes  of  valour  svvell'd  his  pate, 
Now  thought  himself  this  hero,  and  now  that: 
"  And  now,"  he  cried,  "  I  will  Achilles  be ; 
My  sword  I  brandish ;  see,  the  Troj  ans  flee ! 
Now  I'll  be  Hector,  when  his  angry  blade 
A  lane  through  heaps  of  slaughter'd  Grecians 

made! 
And  now  my  deeds,  still    braver  I'll  evince, 
I  am  no  less  than  Edward  the  Black  Prince. 
Give  way,  ye  coward  French !  "    As  thus  he  spoke, 
And  aim'd  in  fanc}'^  a  sufficient  stroke 
To  fix  the  fate  of  Crecy  or  Poictiers 
(The  Muse  relates  the  Hero's  fate  with  tears). 
He  stiiick  his  milk-Avhitc  hand  against  a  nail. 
Sees  his  own  blood,  and  feels  his  courage  fail. 
Ah!  where  is  now  that  boasted  valour  flown. 
That  in  the  tented  field  so  late  was  shown? 
Achilles  weeps,  great  Hector  hangs  his  head, 
And  the  Black  Prince  goes  whimpering  to  bed. 
Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 
[374] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Baucis  and  Philemov,  I '  Merry 

Mood 
In  ancient  times,  as  story  tells, 

The  saints  would  often  leave  their  cells, 

And  stroll  about,  but  hide  their  quality, 

To  tiy  good  people's  hospitality. 

It  happened  on  a  winter  night, 
As  authors  of  the  legend  write, 
Two  brother  hermits,  saints  by  trade, 
Taking  their  tour  in  masquerade. 
Disguised  in  tattered  garments  went 
To  a  small  village  down  in  Kent; 
Where,  in  the  stroller's  canting  strain, 
They  begged  from  door  to  door  in  vain, 
Tried  every  tone  might  pity  win ; 
But  not  a  soul  would  take  them  in. 

Our  wandering  saints,  in  woful  state. 
Treated  at  this  ungodly  rate, 
Having  through  all  the  village  passed, 
To  a  small  cottage  came  at  last 
Where  dwelt  a  good  old  honest  yeoman, 
Call'd  in  the  neighborhood  Philemon ; 
Wlio  kindly  did  these  saints  invite 
In  his  poor  hut  to  pass  the  night ; 
And  then  the  hospitable  sire 
Bid  goody  Baucis  mend  the  fire; 
While  he  from  out  the  chinmey  took 
A  flitch  of  bacon  off  the  hook, 
1.3751 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry      And  freely  from  the  fattest  side 
Mood  Q^^  Q^^  ]arge  slices  to  be  fried ; 

^  Then  stepped  aside  to  fetch  them  drink. 

Filled  a  large  jug  up  to  the  brink, 
And  saw  it  fairly  twice  go  round ; 
Yet  (what  is  wonderful!)  they  found 
'Twas  still  replenished  to  the  top, 
As  if  they  ne'er  had  touched  a  drop. 
The  good  old  couple  were  amazed. 
And  often  on  each  other  gazed ; 
For  both  were  frightened  to  the  heart, 
And  just  began  to  cry,  "  What  art !  " 
Then  softly  turned  aside  to  view 
Whether  the  lights  were  burning  blue. 

"  Good  folks,  you  need  not  be  afraid, 
We  are  but  saints,"  the  hermits  said ; 
"  No  hurt  shall  come  to  you  or  yours : 
But  for  that  pack  of  churlish  boors, 
Not  fit  to  live  on  Christian  ground. 
They  and  their  houses  shall  be  drowned ; 
Whilst  you  shall  see  your  cottage  rise, 
And  grow  a  church  before  your  eyes. 

They  scarce  had  spoke,  when  fair  and  soft. 
The  roof  began  to  mount  aloft, 
Aloft  rose  every  beam  and  rafter, 
The  heavy  wall  climbed  slowly  after: 
The  chimney  widened  and  grew  higher, 
Became  a  steeple  with  a  spire. 

[  3T6  ] 


-» 
» 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  kettle  to  the  top  was  hoist,  In  Merry 

And  there  stood  fastened  to  a  joist;  Mood 

Doomed  ever  in  suspense  to  dwell,  ^ 

'Tis  now  no  kettle,  but  a  bell. 

A  wooden  jack  which  had  almost 
Lost  by  disuse  the  art  to  roast, 
A  sudden  alteration  feels, 
Increased  by  new  intestine  wheels; 
The  jack  and  chimney,  near  allied. 
Had  never  left  each  other's  side: 
The  chimney  to  a  steeple  grown, 
The  jack  would  not  be  left  alone; 
But  up  against  the  steeple  reared. 
Became  a  clock,  and  still  adhered. 

The  groaning  chair  began  to  crawl, 
Like  a  huge  snail  along  the  wall ; 
There  stuck  aloft  in  public  view. 
And  with  small  change  a  pulpit  grew. 

The  cottage,  by  such  feats  as  these, 
Grown  to  a  church  by  just  degrees, 
The  hermits  then  desired  the  host 
To  ask  for  what  he  fancied  most. 
Philemon,  having  paused  awhile. 
Returned  them  thanks  in  homely  style: 
"  I'm  old,  and  fain  would  live  at  ease ; 
Make  me  the  parson,  if  you  please." 

Thus  happy  in  their  change  of  life 
Were  several  years  this  man  and  wife. 
[3T7] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

h  Merrjf  When  on  a  day  which  proved  their  last, 

Mnod  Discoursing  on  old  stories  past, 

^  They  went  by  chance,  amidst  their  talk. 

To  the  churchyard  to  take  a  walk; 
When  Baucis  hastily  cried  out, 
"  My  dear,  I  see  your  forehead  sprout !  '* 
"  But  yes !     jMethinks  I  feel  it  true ; 
And  really  yours  is  budding  too. 
Nay, — now  I  cannot  stir  my  foot; 
It  feels  as  if  'twere  taking  root !  " 
Description  would  but  tire  my  nmse; 
In  short  they  both  were  turned  to  yews. 

Jonathan  Swift. 


The  Lion  and  the  Cub 

A  lion  cub,  of  sordid  mind, 
Avoided  all  the  lion  kind; 
Fond  of  applause,  lie  sought  the  feasts 
Of  vulgar  and  ignoble  beasts; 
With  asses  all  his  time  he  spent, 
Their  club's  perpetual  president. 
He  caught  their  manners,  looks,  and  airs ; 
An  ass  in  everj^thing  but  ears! 
If  e'er  his  Highness  meant  a  joke, 
They  grinn'd  applause  before  he  spoke ; 
But  at  each  word  what  shouts  of  praise; 
*'  Goodness  !  how  natural  he  brays !  " 
C3T81 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Elate  with  flattery  and  conceit.  In  Merry 

He  seeks  his  royal  sire's  retreat; 
Forward  and  fond  to  show  his  parts,  T 

His  Highness  brays;  the  lion  starts. 

"Puppy!  that  curs'd  vociferation: 
Betrays  thy  life  and  conversation: 
Coxcombs,  an  ever-noisy  race. 
Are  trumpets  of  their  own  disgrace." 

"Why  so  severe?"  the  cub  replies; 
"Our  senate  always  held  me  wise!" 

"How  weak  is  pride,"  returns  the  sire: 
"All  fools  are  vain  when  fools  admire! 
But  know,  what  stupid  asses  prize. 
Lions  and  noble  beasts  despise." 

John  Gay. 


Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort. 

Give  ear  unto  my  song; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short- 
It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  Man, 
Of  whom  the  world  might  say. 

That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran — 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 
[379] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Im  Merry  A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had. 

Mood  To  comfort  friends  and  foes : 

The  naked  every  day  he  clad, — 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  Dog  was  founH, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound. 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  Dog  and  Man  at  first  were  friends ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  Dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  Man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighbouring  streets 
The  wondering  neighbours  ran, 

And  swore  the  Dog  had  lost  his  wits, 
To  bite  so  good  a  Man ! 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye: 
And  while  they  swore  the  Dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  ]\Ian  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  show'd  the  rogues  they  lied : — 

The  Man  recover' d  of  the  bite, 
The  Dog  it  was  that  died ! 

Oliver  Goldsmitb* 

[  380  ] 


i 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Walrus  yvd  the  Carpenter  In  A/?»7j 

Mood 
Tlie  sun  was  shining  on  ll'.e  sci, 

Shining  with  all  his  might: 
He  did  his  very  best  to  make 

The  billows  smooth  and  bright — ■ 
And  this  was  odd,  because  it  was 

The  middle  of  the  night. 

The  moon  was  shining  sulkily, 

Because  she  thought  the  sun 
Had  got  no  business  to  be  there 

After  the  dav  was  done — 
*"'  It's  very  rude  of  him,"  she  saidj 

*  Te  come  and  spoil  the  fun !  " 

The  sea  was  wet  as  wet  could  bej, 

The  sands  were  dry  as  dry. 
You  could  not  see  a  cloud,  becaus? 

No  cloud  was  In  the  sky : 
No  birds  were  flying  overhead — - 

There  were  no  birds  to  fly. 

The  Walrus  and  the  Cai'penter 

Were  walking  close  at  hand : 
They  wept  like  anything  to  see 

Such  quantities  of  sand: 
**  If  this  were  only  cleared  away, 

They  said,  "  it  would  be  grand?  ^' 
f38U 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

[n  Merry      "  If  seven  maids  with  seven  mops 
Mooa  Swept  it  for  haL'  a  year, 

Do  you  suppose,"  the  Wah'us  said, 

"  That  they  could  get  it  clear?  " 
"  I  doubt  it,"  said  the  Carpenter, 
And  shed  a  bitter  tear. 

*'  O  Oysters,  come  and  walk  with  us!** 

The  Walrus  did  beseech. 
"  A  pleasant  w^alk,  a  pleasant  talk, 

Alona"  the  briny  beach : 
We  cannot  do  with  more  than  four. 

To  give  a  hand  to  each." 

The  eldest  Oyster  looked  at  him, 

But  never  a  word  he  said: 
The  eldest  Oyster  winked  liis  eye. 

And  shook  his  heavy  head — 
Meaning  to  say  he  did  not  choose 

To  leave  the  oyster-bed. 

But  four  young  Oysters  hurried  up, 

All  eager  for  the  treat: 
Their  coats  were  brushed,  their  faces  washeil^ 

Their  shoes  were  clean  and  neat — 
And  this  was  odd,  because,  you  know. 

They  hadn't  any  feet. 

Four  other  Oysters   followed  them, 
And  yet  another  four; 
[382] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  thick  and  fast  they  came  at  last,  In  H^rrn 

And  more,  and  more,  and  more —  Mood 

All  hopping  through  the  frothy  waves, 
And  scrambling  to  the  shore. 

The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter 

Walked  on  a  mile  or  so. 
And  then  they  rested  on  a  rock 

Conveniently  low: 
And  all  the  little  Oysters  stood 

And  waited  in  a  row. 

*'  The  time  has  come,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  To  talk  of  many  things : 
Of  shoes — and  ships — and  sealing-wax— 

Of  cabbages — and  kings — 
And  why  the  sea  is  boiling  hot — 

And  whether  pigs  have  wings." 

*'  But  wait  a  bit,"  the  Oysters  cried, 

"  Before  we  have  our  chat ; 
For  some  of  us  are  out  of  breath, 

And  all  of  us  are  fat !  " 
"  No  hun'y !  "  said  the  Carpenter. 

They  thanked  him  much  for  that. 

**  A  loaf  of  bread,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  Is  what  we  chieflv  need : 
Pepper  and  vinegar  besides 

Are  very  good  indeed — 
f383) 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

m  Merry      Now,  if  you're  ready,  Oysters  dear. 
Mood  We  can  begin  to  feed." 

"  But  not  on  us !  "  the  O^^sters  cried, 

Turning  a  little  blue. 
"  After  such  kindness,  that  would  be 

A  dismal  thing  to  do !  " 
"  The  night  is  fine,"  the  Walrus  said. 

"  Do  vou  admire  the  view  ? 

*' It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come! 

And  you  are  very  nice !  " 
The  Carpenter  said  nothing  but 

"  Cut  us  another  slice. 
I  ^vish  you  were  not  quite  so  deaf — 

I've  had  to  ask  you.  twice !  " 

"  It  seems  a  shame,"  the  Walrus  saidj 
"  To  play  them  such  a  trick. 

After  we've  brought  them  out  so  far, 
And  made  them  trot  so  quick !  " 

The  Carpenter  said  nothing  but 
"  The  butter's  spread  too  thick ! 


jj 


"  I  weep  for  you,"  the  Walnis  said : 

"  I  deeply  sympathize." 
With  sobs  and  tears  he  sorted  out 

Those  of  the  largest  size, 
Holding  his  pocket-handkerchief 

Before  his  streaming  eyes. 
[384  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

**  O  Oysters,"  said  the  Carpenter,  In  Merry 

"  You've  had  a  pleasant  nin  !  Mood 

Shall  we  be  trotting  home  again  ?  "  f^ 

But  answer  came  there  none — 

And  this  was  scarcely  odd,  because 
They'd  eaten  every  one. 

Lewis  Carroll. 


Song  of  the  Turtle  and  Flamingo 

A  lively  young  turtle  lived  down  by  the  banks 
Of  a  dark  rolling  stream  called  the  Jingo, 
And  one  summer  day,  as  he  went  out  to  play, 
Fell  in  love  with  a  charming  flamingo — 
An  enormously  genteel  flamingo! 
An  expansively  crimson  flamingo ! 
A  beautiful,  bouncing  flamingo! 

Spake  the  turtle  in  tones  like  a  delicate  wheeze: 

"  To  the  water  I've  oft  seen  j'^ou  in  go. 

And  your  form  has  impressed  itself  deep  on  mj 

shell. 
You  perfectly  modeled  flamingo! 
You  tremendously  '  Al  '  flamingo! 
Y'^ou  inex-pres-5i-ble  flamingo ! 

To  be  sure  I'm  a  turtle,  and  you  are  a  bellcj 
And  my  language  is  not  your  fine  lingo; 

[  385  1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

In  Merry  But  smile  on  me,  tall  one,  and  be  my  bright  flame, 
mood    You  miraculous,  wondrous  flamingo! 
You  blazingly  beauteous  flamingo! 
You  turtle-absorbing  flamingo! 
You  inflammably  gorgeous  flamingo !  " 

Then  the  proud  bird  blushed  redder  than  ever  be* 

fore, 
And  that  was  quite  un-nec-ces-*a-ry, 
And  she  stood  on  one  If^.g  and  looked  out  of  on* 

eye, 
The  position  of  things  for  to  vary, — 
This  aquatical,  musing  flamingo ! 
This  dreamy,  uncertain  flamingo! 
This  cmbari'assing,  harassing  flamingo! 

Then  she  cried  to  the  quadruped,  greatly  amazed  ; 

"  Why  your  passion  toward  me  do  you  hurtle? 

I'm  an  ornithological  wonder  of  grace, 

And  you're  an  illogical  turtle, — 

A  waddling,  impossible  turtle! 

A  low-minded,  grass-eating  turtle! 

A  highly  improbable  turtle !  " 

Then  the  turtle  sneaked  off"  with  his  nose  to  thi 

ground. 
And  never  more  looked  at  the  lasses ; 
And  falling  asleep,  Avhile  indulging  his  grief, 
Was  gobbled  up  whole  by  Agassiz, — 
The  peripatetic  Agassiz ! 

[386] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  turtlc-dissccting  Agassi z !  In  Mer'^ 

The  illustrious,  industrious  Agassiz!  Mooa 


Go  with  me  to  Cambridge  some  cool,  pleasant  day, 

And  the  skeleton  lover  I'll  show  you: 

He's  in  a  hard  case,  but  he'll  look  in  your  face, 

Pretending  (the  rogue!)  he  don't  know  you! 

Oh,  the  deeply  deceptive  young  turtle! 

The  double-faced,  glassy-cased  turtle! 

The  green,  but  a  very  wocA:-turtle ! " 

James  T.  Fields. 


-i 


Captain  Reece 

Of  all  the  ships  upon  the  blue, 
No  ship  contained  a  better  crew 
Than  that  of  worthy  Captain  Reece, 
Commanding  of  The  Mantelpiece. 

He  was  adored  by  all  his  men, 
For  worth}^  Captain  Reece,  R.  N., 
Did  all  that  lay  within  him  to 
Promote  the  comfort  of  his  crew. 

If  ever  they  were  dull  or  sad, 
Their  captain  danced  to  them  like  mad; 
Or  told,  to  make  the  time  pass  by, 
Droll  legends  of  his  infancy. 

A  feather-bed  had  ever\    man, 
Warm  slippers  and  hot-watei-  can, 
[387] 


Mood 

r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

In  Merry  Brown  Windsor  from  the  captain's  store, 

A  valet,  too,  to  every  four. 

Did  they  with  thirst  in  summer  burn, 
Lo,  seltzogenes  at  every  turn, 
And  on  all  very  sultry  days 
Cream  ices  handed  round  on  trays. 

Then  currant  wine  and  ginger-pops 
Stood  handily  on  all  the  "  tops ;  " 
And  also,  with  amusement  rife, 
A  "  Zoetrope,  or  Wheel  of  Life." 

New  volumes  came  across  the  sea 
From  Mister  Mudie's  libraree ; 
The  Times  and  Saturday  Review 
Beguiled  the  leisure  of  the  crew. 

Kind-hearted  Captain  Reece,  R.  N., 
Was  quite  devoted  to  his  men ; 
In  point  of  fact,  good  Captain  Reece 
Beatified  The  Mantelpiece. 

One  summer  eve,  at  half-past  ten, 
He  said  (addressing  all  his  men)  : 
"  Come,  tell  me,  please,  what  I  can  do 
To  please  and  gratify  my  crew. 

"  By  any  reasonable  plan 
I'll  make  you  happy  if  I  can ; 
My  own  convenience  count  as  iiil: 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will." 
[388] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Then  up  and  answered  William  Lee  In  Mcrrj 
(The  kindly  captain's  coxswain  he,  Mood 

A  nervous,  shy,  low-spoken  man),  ^ 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  thus  began: 

"  You  have  a  daughter.  Captain  Reece, 
Ten  female  cousins  and  a  niece, 
A  ma,  if  what  I'm  told  is  true, 
Six  sisters,  and  an  aunt  or  two. 

"  Now,  somehow,  sir,  it  seems  to  me, 
More  friendly  like  we  all  should  be, 
If  you  united  of  'em  to 
Unmarried  members  of  the  crew. 

"  If  you'd  ameliorate  our  life, 
Let  each  select  from  them  a  wife; 
And  as  for  nervous  me,  old  pal. 
Give  me  your  own  enchanting  gal !  " 

Good  Captain  Reece,  that  worthy  man, 
Debated  on  his  coxswain's  plan: 
"  I  quite  agree,"  he  said,  "  O  Bill ; 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will. 

"  My  daughter,  that  enchanting  gurl. 
Has  just  been  promised  to  an  Earl, 
And  all  my  other  familee 
To  peers  of  various  degree. 

"  But  what  are  dukes  and  viscounts  to 
The  happiness  of  all  my  crew.'' 
[389] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

In  Merry  The  word  I  gave  you  I'll  fulfil ; 

Mood  It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will. 

▼  "  As  you  desire  it  shall  befall, 

I'll  settle  thousands  on  you  all. 
And  I  shall  be,  despite  my  hoard, 
The  only  bachelor  on  board." 

The  boatswain  of  The  Mantelpiece, 
He  blushed  and  spoke  to  Captain  Reece: 
"  I  beg  your  honour's  leave,"  he  said ; 
"  If  you  would  wish  to  go  and  wed, 

"  I  have  a  widowed  mother  who 
Would  be  the  very  thing  for  you — 
She  long  has  loved  you  from  afar; 
She  washes  for  you,  Captain  R." 

The  Captain  saw  the  dame  that  day — 
Addressed  her  in  his  playful  way — 
"  And  did  it  want  a  wedding  ring? 
It  was  a  tempting  ickle  sing! 

"  Well,  well,  the  chaplain  I  will  seek, 
We'll  all  be  married  this  day  week 
At  yonder  church  upon  the  hill; 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will !  " 

The  sisters,  cousins,  aunts,  and  niece, 
And  widowed  ma  of  Captain  Reece, 
Attended  there  as  they  were  bid ; 
It  was  their  duty,  and  they  did. 

William  Schwenck  Gilbeet. 
[  390  J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Cataract  of  Lodore  In  Mern 

"  How  does  the  Water  ^^"^ 

Come  down  at  Lodore?  "  y 

My  little  boy  ask'd  me 
Thus,  once  on  a  time ; 
And  moreover  he  task'd  me 

To  tell  him  in  rhvme. 

Anon  at  the  word, 
There  first  came  one  daughter. 

And  then  came  another, 

To  second  and  third 
The  request  of  their  brother, 
And  to  hear  how  the  Water 

Comes  down  at  Lodore, 

With  its  rush  and  its  roar. 

As  many  a  time 
They  had  seen  it  before. 
So  I  told  them  in  rhyme, 
For  of  rhymes  I  had  store ; 
And  'twas  in  my  vocation 

For  their  recreation 
That  so  I  should  sing; 
Because  I  was  Laureate 
To  them  and  the  King. 
From  its  sources  which  Avell 

In  the  Tarn  on  the  fell; 

From  its  fountains 

In  the  mountains, 
[391] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

[n  Merry  Its  rills  and  its  gills ; 

^00"^  Through  moss  and  through  brake, 

^  It  runs  and  it  creeps 

For  awhile,  till  it  sleeps 
In  its  own  little  Lake. 
And  thence  at  departing, 
Awakening  and  starting, 
It  runs  through  the  reeds, 

And  away  it  proceeds. 
Through  meadow  and  glade, 

In  sun  and  in  shade. 
And  through  the  wood-shelter, 
Among  crags  in  its  flurry, 
Helter-skelter, 
Hurry-scurry. 
Here  it  comes  sparkling. 
And  there  it  lies  darkling; 
Now  smoking  and  frothing 
Its  tumult  and  wrath  in, 
Till  in  this  rapid  race 
On  which  it  is  bent. 
It  reaches  the  place 
Of  its  steep  descent. 

The  Cataract  strong 
Then  plunges  along, 
Striking  and  raging 
As  if  a  war  waging 
Its  caverns  and  rocks  among; 
[392] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Rising  and  leaping,  f„  Merr^ 

Sinking  and  creeping,  Mood 

Swelling  and  sAveeping,  ST 

Showering  and  spi-inging, 
Flying  and  flinging, 
Writhing  and  ringing. 
Eddying  and  whisking. 
Spouting  and  frisking, 
Turning  and  twisting. 
Around  and  around 
With  endless  rebound : 
Smiting   and   fighting, 
A  sight  to  delight  in ; 
Confounding,  astounding, 
Dizzying  and  deafening  the  ear  with  its  sound. 

Collecting,  projecting. 
Receding  and  speeding. 
And  shocking  and  rocking. 
And  darting  and  parting. 
And   threading  and   spreading. 
And  whizzing  and  hissing, 
And  dripping  and  skipping. 
And  hitting  and  splitting. 
And  shining  and  twining. 
And  rattlin  ;;•  and  battling, 
And  shaking  and  quaking, 
And  pouring  and  roaring, 
And  waving  and  raving, 
[3935 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Jn  Merrfi  And  tossing  and  crossing, 

Mood  ^nd  flowing  and  going, 

^  And  running  and  stunning, 

And  foaming  and  roaming, 
And  dinning  and  spinning, 
And  dropping  and  hopping, 
And  working  and  jerking, 
And  guggling  and  struggling, 
And  heaving  and  cleaving, 
And  moaning  and  groaning; 
And  glittering  and  frittering, 
And  gathering  and  feathering, 
And  whitening  and  brightening, 
And  quivering  and  shivering. 
And  hurrying  and  skurrying, 
And  thundering  and  floundering; 

Dividing  and  gliding  and  sliding, 
And  falling  and  brawling  and  sprawling. 
And  driving  and  riving  and  striving. 
And  sprinkling  and  twinkling  and  wrinkling. 
And  sounding  and  bounding  and  rounding. 
And  bubbling  and  troubling  and  doubling. 
And  grumbling  and  rumbling  and  tumbling, 
And  clattering  and  battering  and  shattering ; 

Retreating  and  beating  and  meeting  and  sheet- 
ing. 

Delaying  and  straying  and  playing  and  spray- 
ing, 

[  394  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Advancing    and    prancing    and    glancing    and  T71  Merry 
dancing,  Mood 

Recoiling,  tumioiling  and  toiling  and  boiling,       jf 

And  gleaming  and  streaming  and  steaming  and 
beaming, 

And   rushing   and    flushing   and   brushing  and 
gushing. 

And  flapping  and   rapping  and   clapping  and 
slapping. 

And  curling  and  whirling  and  purling  and  twirl- 
in  g» 

And  thumping  and  plumping  and  bumping  and 
jumping. 

And   dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and 
clashing; 

And  so  never  ending,  but  always  descending, 

Sounds  and  motions  forever  and  ever  are  blend- 
ing, 

All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar, 

And  this  way  the  Water  comes  down  at  Lodore, 

Robert  Southey. 

r 

TJie  Enchanted  Shirt 

The  king  was  sick.     His  cheek  was  redj 

And  his  eye  was  clear  and  bright ; 
He  ate  and  drank  with  kingly  zest, 

And  peacefully  snored  at  night. 
r  395 1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry  But  he  said  he  was  sick,  and  a  king  should  know, 
Mood         ^j^j  ^]^p  doctors  came  by  the  score. 

They  did  not  cure  him.     He  cut  off  their  heads, 
And  sent  to  the  schools  for  more. 

At  last  two  famous  doctors  came, 
And  one  was  as  poor  as  a  rat, — 

He  had  passed  his  life  in  studious  toil, 
And  never  found  time  to  grow  fat. 

The  other  had  never  looked  in  a  book ; 

His  patients  gave  him  no  trouble : 
If  they  recovered,  they  paid  him  well; 

If  they  died,  their  heirs  paid  double. 

Together  they  looked  at  the  royal  tongue, 
As  the  king  on  his  couch  reclined ; 

In  succession  they  thumped  his  august  chest, 
But  no  trace  of  disease  could  find. 

The  old  Sage  said,  "  You're  as  sound  as  a  nut." 
"  Plang  him  up,"  roared  the  king  in  a  gale— 

In  a  ten-knot  gale  of  royal  rage ; 
The  other  leech  grew  a  shade  pale ; 

But  he  pensively  rubbed  his  sagacious  nose, 
And  thus  his  prescription  ran — 

The  king  will  be  xeell,  if  lie  sleeps  one  night 
In  the  shirt  of  a  Happy  Man. 

•  •  •  •  • 

[396] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


.•> 


Wide  o'er  the  realm  tlic  couriers  rode,  ht  Mcjri) 

And  fast  their  horses  ran,  Mood 

And  many  they  saw,  and  to  many  they  spoke,  ^ 

But  they  found  no  Happy  Man. 

They  found  poor  men  who  would  fain  be  rich, 

And  rich  who  thought  they  were  poor; 
And  men  who  twisted  their  waists  in  stays, 

And  women  who  short  hose  wore. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  village  gate, 

A  beggar  lay  whistling  there; 
He  whistled,  and  sang,  and  laughed,  and  rolled 

On  the  grass,  in  the  soft  June  air. 

The  weary  couriers  paused  and  looked 

At  the  scamp  so  blithe  and  gay ; 
And  one  of  them  said,  "  Heaven  save  you,  friend! 

You  seem  to  be  happy  to-day." 

*'  O  yes,  fair  Sirs,"  the  rascal  laughed, 

And  his  voice  rang  free  and  glad ; 
"  An  idle  man  has  so  much  to  do 

That  he  never  has  time  to  be  sad." 

"  This  is  our  man,"  the  courier  said ; 

"  Our  luck  has  led  us  aright. 
I  will  give  you  a  hundred  ducats,  friend, 

For  the  loan  of  your  shirt  to-night." 

The  merry  blackguard  lay  back  on  the  grass. 
And  laughed  till  his  face  was  black ; 

[  397  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

fn  Merrtf  "  I  would  do  it,  God  wot,"  and  he  roared  with  the 
Mood  f^^^ 

^  "But  I  haven't  a  shirt  to  my  back." 


Each  day  to  the  king  the  reports  came  in 

Of  his  unsuccessful  spies, 
And  the  sad  panorama  of  human  woes 

Passed  daily  under  his  eyes. 

And  he  grew  ashamed  of  his  useless  life. 
And  his  maladies  hatched  in  gloom; 

He  opened  his  windows  and  let  the  air 
Of  the  free  heaven  into  his  room. 

And  out  he  went  in  the  world,  and  toiled 

In  his  own  appointed  way ; 
And  the  people  blessed  him,  the  land  was  glad, 

And  the  king  Mas  well  and  gay. 

John  Hay. 


Made  in  the  Hot   Weather 

Fountains  that  frisk  and  sprinkle 
The  moss  they  overspill ; 
Pools  that  the  breezes  crinkle ; 
The  wheel  beside  the  mill, 
With  its  wet,  weedy  frill; 
[398] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Wind-shadows  in  the  wheat ;  /«  Merrv 

A  water-cart  in  the  street;  Mood 

The  fringe  of  foam  that  girds  ^ 

An  islet's  ferneries ; 

A  green  sky's  minor  thirds — 

To  Hve,  I  think  of  these! 

Of  ice  and  glass  the  tinkle, 
Pellucid,  silver-shrill, 
Peaches  without  a  wrinkle; 
Cherries  and  snov/  at  will 
From  china  bowls  that  fill 
Tlie  senses  with  a  sweet 
Incuriousncss  of  heat; 
A  melon's  dripping  sherds; 
Cream-clotted  strawberries ; 
Dusk  dairies  set  with  curds — 
To  live,  I  think  of  these ! 

Vale-lily  and  periwinkle; 
Wet  stone-crop  on  the  sill ; 
The  look  of  leaves  a-twinkle 
With  windlets  clear  and  still; 
The  feel  of  a  forest  rill 
That  wimples  fresh  and  fleet 
About  one's  naked  feet ; 
The  muzzles  of  drinking  herds ; 
Lush  flags  and  bulrushes ; 
The  chirp  of  rain-bound  birds — • 
To  live,  I  think  of  these! 
[399] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


(n  Mem}  envoy 

Mood 


■:> 


Dark  aisles,  new  packs  of  cards., 
▼  Mermaidens'  tails,  cool  swards. 

Dawn  dews  and  starlit  seas. 
White  marbles,  whiter  words — 
To  live,  I  think  of  these ! 

William  Ernest  Henley. 


The  Housekee'per 

rhe  frugal  snail,  with  forecast  of  repose, 
Carries  his  liouse  with  him  where'er  he  goes; 
peeps  out, — and  if  there  comes  a  shower  of  rain, 
Retreats  to  liis  small  domicile  again. 
Touch  but  a  tip  of  him,  a  horn — 'tis  well,— 
He  curls  up  in  his  sanctuary  shell. 
He's  his  own  landlord,  his  own  tenant;  stay 
Long  as  he  v/ill,  he  dreads  no  Quarter  Day. 
Himself  he  boards  and  lodges ;  both  invites 
And  feasts  himself ;  sleeps  with  himself  o'  nights. 
He  spares  the  upholsterer  trouble  to  procure 
Chattels ;  himself  is  his  own  furniture, 
And  his  sole  riches.     Wheresoe'er  he  roam, — 
Knock  when  you  will, — he's  sure  to  be  at  home. 

Charles  Lamb. 

f 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Monkey  in  Merry 

Monkey,  little  merry  fellow, 

Thou  art  Nature's  Punchinello;  ^ 

Full  of  fun  as  Puck  could  be — 

Harlequin  might  learn  of  thee ! 

•  •  •  • 

In  the  very  ark,  no  doubt, 
You  went  frolicking  about; 
Never  keeping  in  jour  mind 
Drowned  monkeys  left  behind! 

Have  you  no  traditions — none, 
Of  the  court  of  Solomon? 
No  memorial  how  you  went 
With  Prince  Hiram's  armament? 

Look  now  at  him !  slyly  peep ; 
He  pretends  he  is  asleep! 
Fast  asleep  upon  his  bed, 
With  his  arm  beneath  his  head. 

Now  that  posture  is  not  right, 
And  he  is  not  settled  quite; 
There!  that's  better  than  before--* 
And  the  knave  pretends  to  snore! 

Ha!  he  is  not  half  asleep: 
See,  he  slyly  takes  a  peep. 
Monkey,  though  your  eyes  were  shuts 
You  could  see  this  little  nut, 
[401] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

in  Merry  You  shall  have  it,  pigmy  brother! 

Mood  What,  another!  and  another! 

^  Nay,  your  cheeks   are  like  a  sack— « 

Sit  down,  and  begin  to  crack. 

There  the  little  ancient  man 
Cracks  as  fast  as  crack  he  can! 
Now  good-bye,  you  merry  fellow, 
Nature's   primest  Punchinello. 

Mary  Howitt. 


November 

No  sun — no  moon ! 

No  morn — no  noon — 

No  dawn — no  dusk — no  proper  time  of  day — 

No  sky — no  earthly  view — 

No  distance  looking  blue — 

No    road — no    street — no    "  t'other    side    the 

way  " — 
No  end  to  any  Row — 
No  indications  where  the  crescents  go — 
No  top  to  any  steeple — 
No  recognitions  of  familiar  people — 
No  courtesies  for  showing  'em — 
No  knowing  'em ! 

No  traveling  at  all — no  locomotion — 
No  inkling  of  the  way — no  notion — 
**  No  go  " — by  land  or  ocean — » 

[  *02  } 


GOLDEN    xNUiMBERS 

xVo  mail — no  post —  /w  Merij 

No  news  from  any  foreign  coast —  Mood 

No  park — no  ring — no  afternoon  gentility —  ^ 

No  company — no  nobility — 

No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful  ease. 

No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member — 

No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees, 

No  fruits,  no  flowers,  no  leaves,  no  birds — 

November !  _  _._. 

iHOMAS  Hood. 


Captain  Srcord 

Captain  Sword  got  up  one  day, 

Over  the  hills  to  march  away. 

Over  the  hills  and  through  the  towns, 

They  heard  him  coming  across  the  downs. 

Stepping  in  music  and  thunder  sweet, 

Which  his  drums  sent  before  him  into  the  street, 

And  lo!  'twas  a  beautiful  sight  in  the  sun; 

For  first  came  his  foot,  all  marching  like  one, 

With   tranquil   faces,  and   bristling  steel, 

And  the  flag  full  of  honour  as  though  it  could 

feel, 
And  the  officers  gentle,  the  sword  that  hold 
'Gainst  the  shoulder,  heavy  with  trembling  gold, 
And  the  massy  tread,  that  in  passing  is  heard, 
Though  the  drums  and  the  music  say  never  a 

word. 

I  ^m  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

In  Merry  And  then  came  his  horse,  a  clustering  sound. 
Mood     Qf  shapel}^  potency  forward  bound. 
Glossy  black  steeds,  and  riders  tall 
Rank  after  rank,  each  looking  like  all; 
'Midst  moving  repose  and  a  threatening  calm, 
With  mortal  sharpness  at  each  right  arm, 
And  hues  that  painters  and  ladies  love, 
And  ever  the  small  flag  blushed  above. 

And  ever  and  anon  the  kettledrums  beat, 

Hasty  power  'midst  order  meet ; 

And  ever  and  anon  the  drums  and  fifes 

Came  like  motion's  voice,  and  life's; 

Or  into  the  golden  grandeurs  fell 

Of  deeper  instruments    mingling  well, 

Burdens  of  beauty  for  winds  to  bear ; 

And  the  cymbals  kissed  in  the  shining  air. 

And  the  trumpets  their  visible  voices  rear'd, 

Each  looking  forth  with  its  tapestried  beard, 

Bidding  the  heavens  and  earth  make  way 

For  Captain  Sword  and  his  battle  array. 

He,  nevertheless,  rode,  indifferent-ej^ed. 
As  if  pomp  were  a  toy  to  his  manly  pride. 
Whilst   the  ladies  loved  him  the  more   for  his 

scorn, 
And  thought  him  the  noblest  man  ever  was  born, 
And  tears  came  into  the  bravest  eyes, 
And  hearts  swell'd  after  him  double  their  size, 

14.0*  J 


Mood 

r 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

And  all  that  was  weak,  and  all  that  was  strong,  /«  Merry 

Seem'd  to  think  wrong's  self  in  him  could  not  be 

I         wrong, 

Such  love,  though  with  bosom  about  to  be  gored. 

Did  sympathy  get  for  brave  Captain  Sword. 

I 

So  half  that  night,  as  he  stopped  in  the  town, 
'Twas  all  one  dance  going  merrily  down, 
With  lights  in  windows  and  love  in  eyes 
And  a  constant  feeling  of  sweet  surprise; 
But  all  the  next  morning  'twas  tears  and  sighs. 
For  the  sound  of  his  drums  grew  less  and  less, 
(Walking  like  carelessness  off  from  distress; 
And  Captain  Sword  went  whistling  gay, 
"Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 

Leigh  Hunt. 


[405] 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

Story  Poems:  Romance  and  Reality 

When  the  King  in  Lowell's  poem  asked  his  three  daugh- 
ters what  fairings  he  shoidd  bring  them  on  his  home- 
coming, the  two  elder  ones  demanded  jeioels  and  rings, 
silks  that  would  stand  alone,  and  golden  combs  for  the 
hair.  But  the  youngest  Princess,  she  that  was  whiter 
than  thistledown — somehow  it  is  always  the  youngest 
princess  who  is  beloved  of  the  poets  and  romancers — 
asked  as  her  fairing  the  Singing  Leaves.  The  King 
could  not  buy  them  in  Vanity  Fair,  but  in  the  deep 
heart  of  the  greenwood  he  found  Walter,  the  little  foot- 
page,  who  drew  a  thin  packet  from,  his  bosom  and  said, 

"Now  give  you  this  to  the  Princess  Anne, 
The  Singing  Leaves  are  therein," 

She  took  them  when  the  King  met  her  at  the  castle  gate, 
the  lovely  little  Princess  with  the  golden  crown  .'shin- 
ing dim  in  the  blithesome  gold  of  her  hair;  took  them 
with  a  smile  that 

"Lighted  her  tears  as  the  summer  sun 
Transfigures  the  summer  rain." 

The  poems  we  give  you  here,  young  princes  and  prin- 
cesses of  the  twentieth  century,  are  all  Singing  Leaves 
of  one  sort  or  another.  There  are  leaves  that  sing 
tragedies,  like  those  in  '^ Earl  Haldan's  Daughter," 
''The  High  Tide,''  or  ''The  Sands  o'  Dee";  there  are 
leaves  that  sing  fantasies,  like  "  The  Forsaken  Mer- 
man,'" "The  Pied  Piper,"  or  the  enchanting  "Lady  of 
Shalott,"  weaving  her  magic  web  of  colors  gay. 
There  are  Singing  Leaves  that  grew  on  the  Tree  of 
Reality;  leaves  that  tell  stories  like  Bret  Harte's  "Grey- 
port  Legend"  or  Browning's  "Herve  Riel";  while  in 
"Seven  Times  Two,"  the  "Swans  Nest,"  "Lord  Ullin," 
"Young  Lochinvar,"  and  "Jock  o'  Hazledean"  you 
have  pure  romances,  sweet  and  youthful,  gay  and  daring. 


XIII 

STOR^   POEMS:  ROMANCE  AND 
REALITY 


The  Singing  Leaves 

I 

"  What  fairings  win  ye  that  I  bring?" 
Said  the  King  to  his  daughters  three; 

"  For  I  to  Vanity  Fair  am  boun', 
Now  say  what  shall  they  be?  " 

Then  up  and  spake  the  eldest  daughter, 

That  lady  tall  and  grand: 
"  Oh,  bring  me  pearls  and  diamonds  greaty 

And  gold  rings  for  my  hand." 

Thereafter  spake  the  second  daughter, 

That  was  both  white  and  red : 
"  For  me  bring  silks  that  will  stand  alone. 

And  a  gold  comb  for  my  head." 

Then  came  the  turn  of  the  least  daughter, 
That  was  whiter  than  thistle-down, 

And  among  the  gold  of  her  blithesome  hair 
Dim  shone  the  golden  crown. 

i4on 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Romance  *'  There  came  a  bird  this  morning, 
and  And  sang  'neath  my  bower  eaves, 

Till  I  dreamed,  as  his  music  made  me. 


Ucality 


▼  *  Ask  thou  for  the  Singing  Leaves.'  * ' 

Then  the  brow  of  the  King  swelled  crinisoa 
♦   With  a  flush  of  angry  scorn: 
*'  Well  have  ye  spoken,  my  two  eldest, 
And  chosen  as  ye  were  born; 

*'  But  she,  like  a  thing  of  peasant  race, 
That  is  happy  binding  the  sheaves ;  '* 

Then  he  saw  her  dead  mother  in  her  face. 
And  said,  "  Thou  shalt  have  thy  leave*.'* 


II 


He  mounted  and  rode  three  days  and  nights 

Till  he  came  to  Vanitv  Fair, 
And  't  was  easy  to  buy  the  gems  and  the  silk. 

But  no  Singing  Leaves  were  there. 

Then  deep  in  the  greenwood  rode  he, 
And  asked  of  every  tree, 
Oh,  if  you  have  ever  a  Singing  Leaf, 
I  pray  you  give  it  me!" 


<( 


But  the  trees  all  kept  their  counsel, 
And  never  a  word  said  they, 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Only  there  sighed  from  the  pine-tops  Uoinanct 

A  music  of  seas  far  away.  ^^ 

Reality 

Only  the  pattering  aspen  ^ 

Made  a  sound  of  growing  rain, 
That  fell  ever  faster  and  faster, 

Then  faltered  to  silence  again. 

"  Oh,  where  shall  I  find  a  little  foot-page 

That  would  win  both  hose  and  shoon, 
And  will  bring  to  me  the  Singing  Leaves 

If  they  grow  under  the  moon  ?  " 

Then  lightly  turned  him  Walter  the  page, 

By  the  stirrup  as  he  ran: 
"  Now  pledge  you  me  the  truesome  word 

Of  a  king  and  gentleman, 

"  Tliat  you  will  give  me  the  first,  first  thing 

You  meet  at  your  castle-gate, 
And  the  Princess  shall  get  the  Singing  Leav€f;c 

Or  mine  be  a  traitor's  fate." 

Tlic  King's  head  dropt  upon  his  breast 

A  moment,  as  it  might  be ; 
*T  will  be  my  dog,  he  thought,  and  said, 

"  My  faith  I  plight  to  thee." 

Then  Walter  took  from  next  his  heart 

A  packet  small  and  thin, 
"  Now  give  you  this  to  the  Princess  AnnCj 

The  Singing  Leaves  are  therein.' 

[409] 


» 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  III 

and 
Reality    As  the  King  rode  in  at  his  castle-gate, 

A  maiden  to  meet  him  ran, 

And  "  Welcome,  father !  "  she  laughed  and  cried 

Together,  the  Princess  Anne. 

*'  Lo,  here  the  Singing  Leaves,"  quoth  he, 
"  And  woe,  but  they  cost  me  dear ! " 

She  took  the  packet,  and  the  smile 
Deepened  down  beneath  the  tear. 

It  deepened  down  till  it  reached  her  heart, 

And  then  gushed  up  again, 
And  lighted  her  tears  as  the  sudden  sun 

Transfigures  the  summer  rain. 

And  the  first  Leaf,  when  it  was  opened, 
Sang :  "  I  am  Walter  the  page, 

And  the  songs  I  sing  'neath  thy  window 
Are  my  only  heritage." 

And  the  second  Leaf  sang:  "But  in  the  land 
That  is  neither  on  earth  nor  sea, 

My  lute  and  I  are  lords  of  more 
Than  thrice  this  kingdom's  fee." 

And  the  third  Leaf  sang,  "  Be  mine !   Be  mine !  " 
And  ever  it  sang,  "  Be  mine !  " 

Then  sweeter  it  sang  and  ever  sweeter. 
And  said,  "I  am  thine,  thine,  thine!" 

[410  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

At  the  first  Leaf  she  grew  pale  enough,  Romanct 
At  the  second  she  turned  aside,  '^'"^ 

At  the  third,  't  was  as  if  a  hly  flushed  ^ 

With  a  rose's  red  heart's  tide.  ▼ 

"  Good  counsel  gave  the  bird,"  said  she, 

"  I  have  my  hope  thrice  o'er, 
For  they  sing  to  my  very  heart,"  she  said, 

"  And  it  sings  to  them  evermore." 

She  brought  to  him  her  beauty  and  truth, 

But  and  broad  earldoms  three. 
And  he  made  her  queen  of  the  broader  lands 

He  held  of  his  lute  in  fee. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


Seven  Times  Two 

You  bells  in  the  steeple,  ring,   ring  out  your 
changes. 
How  many  soever  they  be. 
And   let   the    brown   meadow-lark's   note  as   he 
ranges 
Come  over,  come  over  to  me! 

Yet  birds'  clearest  carol  by  fall  or  by  swelling 

No  magical  sense  conveys; 
And  bells  have  forgotten  their  old  art  of  telling 

The  fortune  gf  future  days. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  "  Turn   again,   turn   again !  "    once   they    rang 
"'"^  cheerily, 

"  While  a  boy  listened  alone; 

Made  his  heart  yearn  again,  musing  so  wearily 
All  by  himself  on  a  stone. 

Poor  bells !  I  forgive  you ;  your  good  days  are 
over. 
And  mine,  they  are  yet  to  be ; 
No  listening,  no  longing,  shall  aught,  aught  dis- 
cover ; 
You  leave  the  story  to  me. 

The  foxglove  shoots  out  of  the  green  matted 
heather. 

And  hangeth  her  hoods  of  snow ; 
She  was  idle,  and  slept  till  the  sunshiny  weather : 

Oh,  children  take  long  to  grow ! 

I  wish  and  I  wish  that  the  spring  would  go  faster, 
Nor  long  summer  bide  so  late ; 

And  I  could  grow  on  like  the  foxglove  and  aster, 
For  some  things  are  ill  to  wait. 

I  wait  for  the  day  when  dear  hearts  shall  dis- 
cover, 
While  dear  hands  are  laid  on  my  head, 
"The  child  is  a  woman — the  book  may  close  over, 
For  all  the  lessons  are  said." 
[412] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

I  wait  for  my  story :  the  birds  cannot  sing  it,        Roynnvce 

Not  one,  as  he  sits  on  the  tree;  ^'"^ 

The  bells  cannot  ring  it,  but  long  years,  oh  bring  " 

it!  'f 

Such  as  I  wish  it  to  be. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


The  Long  White  Seam 

As  I  came  round  the  harbor  buoy, 

The  lights  began  to  gleam, 
No  wave  the  land-locked  harbor  stirred, 

The  crags  were  white  as  cream ; 
And  I  marked  my  love  by  candlelight 
Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 

It's  aye  sewing  ashore,  my  dear, 

Watch  and  steer  at  sea. 
It's  reef  and  furl,  and  haul  the  line. 
Set  sail  and  think  of  thee. 

I  climbed  to  reach  her  cottage  door; 

Oh  sweetly  my  love  sings ! 
Like  a  shaft  of  light  her  voice  breaks  forthc 

My  soul  to  meet  it  springs. 
As  the  shining  water  leaped  of  old 
When  stirred  by  angel  wings. 
Aye  longing  to  list  anew. 
Awake  and  in  my  dream? 
[413] 


Reality 

r 


>■> 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

RomuTUx  But  never  a  song  she  sang  like  thisj 

^^  Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 

Fair  fall  the  lights,  the  harbor  lights, 

That  brought  me  in  to  thee. 
And  peace  drop  down  on  that  low  roof, 

For  the  sight  that  I  did  see. 
And  the  voice,  my  dear,  that  rang  so  clear» 
All  for  the  love  of  me. 

For  O,  for  O,  with  brows  bent  low. 
By  the  flickering  candle's  gleam, 
Her  wedding  gown  it  was  she  wrought, 
Sewing  the  long  white  seam. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


Hannah  Binding  Shoes 

Poor  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  at  the  window,  binding  shoes! 

Faded,  wrinkled. 
Sitting,  stitching,  in  a  mournful   muse. 
Bright-eyed  beauty  once  was  she, 
When  the  bloom  was  on  the  tree ; — 
Spring  and  winter, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

Not  a  neighbor 
Passing,  nod  or  answer  will  refuse 

To  her  whisper, 
**Is  there  from  the  fishers  any  news?" 

[414] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Oh,  her  heart's  adrift  with  one  Romanct 

On  an  endless  voyage  gone; —  ond 

Night  and  morning,  ^^«% 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

Fair  young  Hannah, 
Ben,  the  sunburnt  fisher,  gaily  wooes ; 

Hale  and  clever, 
For  a  willing  heart  and  hand  he  sues. 
May-day  skies  are  all  aglow. 
And  the  waves  are  laughing  so ! 
For  her  wedding 
Hannah  leaves  her  window  and  her  shoes. 

May  is  passing; 
'Mid  the  apple-boughs  a  pigeon  cooes; 

Hannah  shudders, 
For  the  mild  south-wester  mischief  brews. 
Round  the  rocks  of  Marblehead, 
Outward  bound  a  schooner  sped ; 
Silent,  lonesome, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

'Tis  November: 
Now  no  tear  her  wasted  cheek  bedews, 

From  Newfoundland 
Not  a  sail  returning  will  she  lose. 

Whispering  hoarsely :  "  Fishermen, 
Have  you,  have  you  heard  of  Ben?  " 
Old  with  watching, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

[4.15] 


Reality 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  Twenty  winters 

am  Bleak  and  drear  the  ragged  sliore  she  views. 

Twenty   seasons ! 
Never  one  has  brought  her  any  news, 
Still  her  dim  eyes  silently 
Chase  the  white  sails  o'er  the  sea ; — 
Hopeless,  faithful, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes» 

Lucy  LarcoMc 


Lord  Ullin^s  Daughter 

A  Chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound 
Cries  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry ! 

And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry !  " 

*'  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ?  " 

"  O  I'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle. 
And  this.  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

*'  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we've  fled  together. 

For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

**  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride — • 
Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
f416l 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride  Romance 

When  they  have  slain  her  lover !  "  ^, 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight  ^ 

"  I'll  go,  my  chief,  I'm  ready : 
It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 

But  for  your  winsome  lady : — 

"  And  by  my  word !  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry ; 
So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white 

I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 

The  water-wraith  was  shrieking; 
And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 

Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind 

And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 

Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

*'  O  haste  thee,  haste !  "  the  lady  crieSy 

"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather; 
I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 

But  not  an  angry  father." 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her, — 
When,  O!  too  strong  for  human  hand 

The  tempest  gather'd  o'er  her. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Ro7nance       And  still  they   row'd  amidst  the  roaf 
^'"^  Of  waters  fast  prevailing: 

Lord  Ullin  reach' d  that  fatal  shore, — 


Reality 


▼  His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

For,  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and  shade 

His  child  he  did  discover: — 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretch'd  for  aid, 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"  Come  back !  come  back !  "  he  cried  in  grief 

"  Across  this  stomiy  water : 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter ! — O  my  daughter !  " 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lash'd  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing: 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


The  King  of  Dcnmark^s  Ride 

Word  was  brought  to  the  Danish  king, 

(  Hurry ! ) 
That  the  love  of  his  heart  lay  suffering. 
And  pined  for  the  comfort  his  voice  would  bring 

( Oh !  ride  as  if  you  were  flying ! ) 
Better  he  loves  each  golden  curl 
On  the  brow  of  that  Scandinavian  girl 

1*18] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Than  his  rich  crown-j  ewels  of  ruby  and  pearl ;  Romcuic:: 

And  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  is  dying!  ""^ 

Reality 

Tliirty  nobles  saddled  with  speed;  ^ 

(  Hurry ! ) 
Each  one  mounted  a  gallant  steed 
Which  he  kept  for  battle  and  days  of  need; 

(Oh!  ride  as  though  you  were  flying!) 
Spurs  were  stuck  in  the  foaming  flank, 
Worn-out  chargers  staggered  and  sank; 
Bridles  were  slackened  and  girths  were  burst ; 
But,  ride  as  they  would,  the  king  rode  first. 

For  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  lay  dying. 

His  nobles  are  beaten,  one  by  one; 

(Hurry!) 
They  have  fainted,  and  faltered,  and  homeward 

gone ; 
His  little  fair  page  now  follows  alone. 

For  strength  and  for  courage  trying. 
The  king  looked  back  at  that  faithful  child, 
Wan  was  the  face  that  answering  smiled. 
The}'  passed  the  drawbridge  with  clattering  din^ 
Then  he  dropped,  and  only  the  king  rode  in 

Where  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  lay  dying. 

The  king  blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle-horn, 

(Silence!) 
No  answer  came,  but  faint  and  forlorn. 

[419] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Bomance  An  echo  returned  on  the  cold  gray  morn, 
and  Like  the  breath  of  a  spirit  sighing; 

The   castle   portal   stood   grimly    wide; 
T        None  welcomed  the  king  from  that  weary  ride! 
For,  dead  in  the  light  of  the  dawning  day, 
The  pale  sweet  form  of  the  welcomcr  lay, 

Who  had  yearned  for  his  voice  while  dying. 

The  panting  steed  with  a  drooping  crest 

Stood  weary ; 
The  king  returned  from  the  chamber  of  rest, 
The  thick  sobs  choking  in  his  breast, 

And  that  dumb  companion  eying, 
The  tears  gushed  forth,  which  he  strove  to  check ; 
He  bowed  his  head  on  his  charger's  neck, — 
"  O  steed  that  every  nerve  didst  strain, 
Dear  steed !  our  ride  hath  been  in  vain 

To  the  halls  where  my  love  lay  dying." 

Caroline  Elizabeth  Norton. 


The  Shepherd  to  His  Love 

Come  live  Avith  me,  and  be  my  Love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove. 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dale  and   field, 
And  all  the  craggy  mountains  yield. 

There  will  we  sit  upon  the  rocks, 
And  see  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks 
I  429  1 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls  Romance 

Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals.  ""^, 

Reality 

There  will  I  make  thee  beds  of  roses, 

And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 

A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle, 

Embroider'd  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle ; 

A  ^wn  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull ; 
Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold; 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy-buds. 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs: 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  Love. 

Thy  silver  dishes  for  thy  meat, 
As  precious  as  the  gods  do  eat, 
Shall,  on  an  ivory  table,  be 
Prepared  each  day  for  thee  and  me. 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning: 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me,  and  be  my  Love. 

Christopher  Marlowe. 

9 


t  '-'^I  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Rotnanee  Ballad 

and 

A.D.    1400. 


Reality 


It  was  Earl  Haldan's  daughter, 

She  looked  across  the  sea; 
She  looked  across  the  water, 

And  long  and  loud  laughed  she: 
"  The  locks  of  six  princesses 

Must  be  m J  marriage  fee : 
So,  hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat, 

Who  comes  a-wooing  me !  " 

It  was  Earl  Haldan's  daughter. 

She  walked  along  the  sand, 
When  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  so  fair, 

Came  sailing  to  the  land. 
His  sails  were  all  of  velvet. 

His  mast  of  beaten  gold, 
And  "  Hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat. 

Who  saileth  here  so  bold?  " 

"  The  locks  of  five  princesses 

I  won  beyond  the  sea ; 
I  shore  their  golden  tresses 

To  fringe  a  cloak  for  thee. 
One  handful  yet  is  wanting, 

But  one  of  all  the  tale; 
So,  hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat, 

Furl  up  thy  velvet  sail !  '* 


riiance 
(uui 


liealii^ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

He  leapt  into  the  water,  lio 

That  rover  young  and  bold ; 
He   gript   Earl    Haldan's   daughter, 

He  shore  her  locks  of  gold:  * 

"  Go  weep,  go  weep,  proud  maiden. 
The  tale  is  full  to-day. 
Now,  hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat, 
Sail  Westward  ho,  and  away !  " 

Charles  Kingsley. 

Romance  of  the  Swanks  Nest 

Little  Ellie  sits  alone 
'Mid  the  beeches  of  a  meadow, 

By  a  stream-side  on  the  grass; 

And  the  trees  are  showering  down 
Doubles  of  their  leaves  in  shadow 

On  her  shining  hair  and  face. 

She  has  thrown  her  bonnet  by ; 
And  her  feet  she  has  been  dipping 

In  the  shallow  water's  flow — 

Now  she  holds  them  nakedly 
In  her  hands,  all  sleek  and  dripping 

While  she  rocketh  to  and  fro. 

Little  Ellie  sits  alone. 
And  the  smile  she  softly  uses, 
Fills  the  silence  like  a  speech ; 
[423] 


Realit- 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Bomunce  While  she  thinks  what  shall  be  done,- 

and  And  the  sweetest  pleasure  chooses, 

"  For  her  future  within  reach. 

Little  Ellie  in  her  smile 
Chooseth    .    .    .    "  I  will  have  a  lover. 

Riding  on  a  steed  of  steeds ! 

He  shall  love  me  without  guile; 
And  to  him  I  will  discover 

That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds. 

"  And  the  steed  shall  be  red-roan 
And  the  lover  shall  be  noble, 

With  an  eye  that  takes  the  breath. 

And  the  lute  he  plays  upon, 
Shall  strike  ladies  into  trouble, 

As  his  sword  strikes  men  to  death. 

"  And  the  steed  it  shall  be  shod 
All  in  silver,  housed  in  azure, 

And  the  mane  shall  swim  the  wind: 

And  the  hoofs  along  the  sod 
Shall  flash  onward  and  keep  measure. 

Till  the  shepherds  look  behind. 

"  But  my  lover  will  not  prize 
All  the  glory  that  he  rides  in. 

When  he  gazes  in  my  face. 

He  will  say,  '  O  Love,  thine  eyes 
Build  the  shrine  my  soul  abides  in ; 

And  I  kneel  here  for  thy  grace.' 
[  424 1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  Then,  ay,  then — he  shall  kneel  low  Romance 

With  the  red-roan  steed  anear  him  ""^_ 

Which  shall  seem  to  understand —  ^ 

Till  I  answer,  '  Rise  and  go !  T 

For  the  world  must  love  and  fear  him 

Whom  I  gift  with  heart  and  hand.' 

*'  Then  he  will  arise  so  pale, 
I  shall  feel  my  own  lips  tremble 

With  a  yes  I  must  not  say — 

Nathless  maiden-brave,  '  Farewell,' 
I  will  utter  and  dissemble — 

'  Light  to-morrow  with  to-day.' 

"  Then  he'll  ride  among  the  hills 
To  the  wide  world  past  the  river, 

There  to  put  away  all  wrong: 

To  make  straight  distorted  wills, 
And  to  empty  the  broad  quiver 

Which  the  wicked  bear  along. 

"  Three  times  shall  a  young  foot-page 
Swim  the  stream  and  climb  the  mountain 

And  kneel  down  beside  my  feet — 

'  Lo !  my  master  sends  this  gage. 
Lady,  for  thy  pity's  counting! 

What  wilt  thou  exchange  for  it?  ' 

"  And  the  first  time,  I  will  send 
A  white  rosebud  for  a  guerdon, — • 
And  the  second  time  a  glove; 
1.425] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

limiance  But  the  third  time — I  may  bend 

atia  From  mj  pride,  and  answer — '  Pardon — 

If  he  comes  to  take  my  love.' 

"  Then  the  young  foot-page  will  run- 
Then  my  lover  will  ride  faster, 

Till  he  kneeleth  at  my  knee: 

'  I  am  a  duke's  eldest  son ! 
Thousand  serfs  do  call  me  master, — 

But,  O  Love,  I  love  but  thee!  ' 

"  He  will  kiss  me  on  the  mouth 
Then;  and  lead  me  as  a  lover, 

Through  the  crowds  that  praise  his  deeds: 

And,  when  soul-tied  by  one  troth. 
Unto  him  I  will  discover 

That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds." 

Little  Ellie,  with  her  smile 
Not  yet  ended,  rose  up  ga34y. 

Tied  the  bonnet,  donned  the  shoe — • 

And  went  homeward,  round  a  mile, 
Just  to  see,  as  she  did  daily. 

What  more  eggs  were  with  the  two. 

Pushing  through  the  elm-tree  copse 
Winding  by  the  stream,  light-hearted, 

Where  the  osier  patliway  leads — 

Past  the  boughs  she  stoops — and  stops ! 
Lo !  the  wild  swan  had  deserted — - 

And  a  rat  had  gnawed  the  reeds. 
[426] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Ellie  went  home  sad  and  slow:  Romanot, 

If  she  found  the  lover  ever,  ^'"^ 

With  his  red-roan  steed  of  steeds,  ' 

Sooth  I  know  not !  but  I  know  T 

She  could  never  show  him — never, 

That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds ! 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


LocJiinvar 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west; 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the 

best; 
And  save  his  good  broad-sword  he  weapons  had 

none; 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for 

stone ; 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was 

none; 
But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late: 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

[427] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 

and       'Mong  bridesmen  and  kmsmen,  and  brothers  and 
Reality  ,, 

9        Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his 

sword 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a 

word ) , 
"  Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochin- 

var?" 

*'  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  de- 
nied ; — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide ; 
And  now  I  am  come,  wath  this  lost  love  of  mine 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  3'^oung  Lochin- 
var." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet;  the  knight  took  it 
up: 

He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the 
cup. 

She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to 
sigh, 

With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 

"  Now  tread  we  a  measure !  "  said  young  Loch- 
invar. 

[428] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face,         Boniance 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace;  ""'( 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  ^ 

fume,  T 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet 

and  plume; 
And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "  'Twere  better 

by  far 
To  have  matched  our   fair  cousin  with  young 

Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her 

ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door  and  the  charger 

stood  near ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"  She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

scaur ! 
They'll  have   fleet   steeds   that  follow !  "   quoth 

young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Neth- 
er by  clan ; 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode 
and  they  ran ; 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee; 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they 
see. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

^.       Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Loch" 
Reality  .  „ 

^  invar  r 

▼  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

From  "  Marmion." 


Jock  of  Hazeldean 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride ; 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done, 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale ; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha'. 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 
Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair; 

Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 
Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair; 
[430] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a%  Romance 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen  " —  "'"^ 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa'  Heahtif 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean,  f^ 

The  kh'k  was  decked  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmered  fair; 
The  priest  and  bridegi'oom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 
They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha', 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

r 

Tlie  Lady  of  Shalott 

Part  I 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
That  clothe  the  wold  and  meet  the  sky; 
And  through  the  fields  the  road  runs  by 

To  many-towered  Camelot; 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go, 
Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 
Round  an  island  there  beloWj 

The  island  of  Shalott, 


Realitif 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Ronmnce       Willows  whiten,  aspens  quiver, 
and  Little  breezes  dusk  and  shiver 

Through  the  wave  that  runs  forever 
By  the  island  in  the  river 

Flowing  down  to  Camelot; 
Four  gray  walls,  and  four  gray  towerSj 
Overlook  a  space  of  flowers, 
And  the  silent  isle  imbowers 
The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

By  the  margin,  willow-veiled, 
Slide  the  heavy  barges  trailed 
By  slow  horses ;  and  unbailed 
The   shallop   flitteth   silken-sailed, 

Skimming  down  to  Camelot : 
But  who  hath  seen  her  wave  her  hand: 
Or  at  the  casement  seen  her  stand? 
Or  is  she  known  in  all  the  land, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Only  reapers,  reaping  early 
In  among  the  bearded  barley. 
Hear  a  song  that  echoes  cheerly. 
From  the  river  winding  clearly, 

Down  to  towered  Camelot: 
And  by  the  moon  the  reaper  weary, 
Piling  sheaves'  in  uplands  airy. 
Listening,  whispers  "  'Tis  the  fairy 

Lady  of  Shalott." 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Part  II  Romance 

There  she  weaves  bj  night  and  day  ""^. 

A  magic  web  with  colors  gay.  "^ 

She  has  heard  a  whisper  sa}"^,  T 

A  curse  is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 
She  knows  not  what  the  curse  may  be 
And  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
And  little  other  care  hath  she, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  moving  thro'  a  mirror  cleai 
That  hangs  before  her  all  the  year, 
Shadows  of  the  world  appear. 
There  she  sees  the  highway  near 

Winding  down  to  Camelot; 
There  the  river  eddy  whirls, 
And  there  the  surly  village  churls, 
And  the  red  cloaks  of  market-girls, 

Pass  onward  from  Shalott. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad, 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad, 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd  lad, 
Or  long-haired  page  in  crimson  clad, 

Goes  by  to  towered  Camelot; 
And  sometimes  thro'  the  mirror  blue 
The  knights  come  riding  tv.o  and  two: 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 
1  433  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Ro7)mtice       But  in  her  web  she  still  delights 
and  'Pq  weave  the  mirror's  magic  sights, 

^         For  often  thro'  the  silent  nights 
?  A  funeral,  with  plumes  and  lights, 

And  music,  went  to  Camelot: 
Or  when  the  moon  was  overhead, 
Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed; 
"  I  am  half  sick  of  shadows,"  said 
The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Part  III 
A  bow-shot  from  her  bower-eaves. 
He  rode  between  the  barley-sheaves, 
The  sun  came  dazzling  through  the  leaveSj 
And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves 

Of  bold  Sir  Lancelot. 
A  red-cross  knight  forever  kneeled 
To  a  lady  in  his  shield, 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  field, 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

The  gemmy  bridle  glittered  free, 
Like  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 
Hung  in  the  golden  Galaxy. 
The  bridle-bells  rang  merrily. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot: 
And  from  his  blazoned  baldric  slung 
A  mighty  silver  bugle  hung, 
And  as  he  rode  his  armor  rung, 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 
[434] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather  Romance 

Thick-jewelled  shone  the  saddle-leather.  '^"'^ 

The  helmet  and  the  helmet-feather  ^"""^'^^ 

Burned    like  one    burning  flame   together,  y 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
As  often  through  the  purple  night, 
Below  the  starry  clusters  bright, 
Some  bearded  meteor,  trailing  light, 

Moves   over  still   Shalott. 

His  broad  clear  brow  in  sunlight  glowed; 
On  burnished  hooves  his  war-horse  trode ; 
From  underneath  his  helmet  flowed 
His  coal-black  curls  as  on  he  rode. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
From  the  bank  and  from  the  river 
He  flashed  into  the  crystal  mirror, 
*'  Tirra  lirra,"  by  the  river 

Sang  Sir  Lancelot. 

She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom. 
She  made  three  paces  thro'  the  room, 
She  saw  the  water  lily  bloom, 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume, 

She  looked  down  to  Camelot. 
Out  flew  the  web  and  floated  wide ; 
The  mirror  cracked  from  side  to  side; 
*'  The  curse  is  come  upon  me,"  cried 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 
[435] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 
Romance  Part  IV 

n    ,~.  In  the  stormy  east-wind  straining, 

The  pale  yellow  woods  were  waning, 

The  broad  stream  in  his  banks  complaining, 

Heavily  the  low  sky  raining 

Over  towered  Camelot ; 
Down  she  came  and  found  a  boat 
Beneath  a  willow  left  afloat. 
And  round  about  the  prow  she  wrote. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  down   the  river's  dim  expanse — 
Like  some  bold  seer  in  a  trance, 
Seeing  all  his  own  mischance — 
With  a  glassy  countenance 

Did  she  look  to  Camelot. 
And  at  the  closing  of  the  day 
She  loosed  the  chain,  and  down  she  lay; 
The  broad  stream  bore  her  far  away, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Lying,  robed  in  snowy  white 
That  loosely  flew  to  left  and  right — 
The  leaves  upon  her  falling  light — 
Thro'  the  noises  of  the  night 

She  floated  down  to  Camelot: 
And  as  the  boat-head  wound  along 
The  willowy  hills  and  fields  among. 
They  heard  her  singing  her  last  song. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott, 
r436l 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Heard  a  carol,  mournful,  holy,  Romance 

Chanted  loudly,  chanted  lowly,  «««'" 

Till  her  blood  was  frozen  slowly,  ^"^''^V 

And  her  eyes  were  darkened  wholly,  ^ 

Turned  to  towered  Canielot; 
For  ere  she  reached  upon  the  tide 
The  first  house  bv  the  water-side. 
Singing  in  her  song  she  died, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Under  tower  and  balcony, 

By  garden  wall  and  gallery, 

A  gleaming  shape  she  floated  by. 

Dead-pale  between  the  houses  high, 

Silent  into  Camelot. 
Out  upon  the  wharfs  they  came. 
Knight  and  burgher,  lord  and  dame. 
And  round  the  prow  they  read  her  name, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Who  is  this?  and  what  is  here. 
And  in  the  lighted  palace  near 
Died  the  sound  of  royal  cheer ; 
And  they  crossed  themselves  for  fear, 

All  the  knights  at  Camelot : 
But  Lancelot  mused  a  little  space; 
He  said,  "  She  has  a  lovely  face; 
God  in  his  mercy  lend  her  grace, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott." 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson", 
r437] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Homance  The  High   Tide  on  the  Coast  of  LincolnsJr^f} 

and 
Reality    The  old  mayor  climbed  the  belfry  tower, 

The  ringers  ran  by  two,  by  three; 
"  Pull,  if  ye  never  pulled  before ; 

Good  ringers,  pull  your  best,"  quoth  he. 
"  Play  uppe,  play  uppe,  O  Boston  bells ! 
Play  all  your  changes,  all  your  swells. 

Play  uppe  '  The  Brides  of  Enderby.' 

Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tyde — 


j> 


The  Lord  that  sent  it.  He  knows  all ; 
But  in  myne  ears  doth  still  abide 

The  message  that  the  bells  let  fall: 
And  there  was  nought  of  strange,  beside 
The  flights  of  mews  and  peewits  pied 

By  millions  crouched  on  the  old  sea  wall. 

I  sat  and  spun  within  the  doore, 

My  thread  brake  off,  I  raised  myne  eyes; 
The  level  sun,  like  ruddy  ore, 

Lay  sinking  in  the  barren  skies ; 
And  dark  against  day's  golden  death 
She  moved  where  Lindis  wandereth, 
My  Sonne's  faire  wife,  Elizabeth. 

"  Cusha !   Cusha !   Cusha !  "   calling. 
Ere  the  early  dews  were  falling, 

Farre  away  I  heard  her  song. 
"  Cusha !  Cusha !  "  all  along ; 

[438] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Where  the  reedy  Lindis  floweth,  Romance 

Floweth,  floweth,  and 

From  the  meads  where  mehck  groweth  JtealtU/ 

Faintly  came  her  milking  song. —  f 

"  Cusha !  Cusha !  Cusha !  "  calling, 
"  For  the  dews  will  soone  be  falling ; 
Leave  your  meadow  grasses  mellow, 

Mellow,  mellow; 
Quit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow; 

Come  uppe  Whitefoot,  come  uppe  Lightfoot, 
Quit  the  stalks  of  parsley  hollow, 

Hollow,  hollow; 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  rise  and  follow. 

From  the  clovers  lift  your  head; 
Come  uppe  Whitefoot,  come  uppe  Lightfoot, 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  rise  and  follow, 

Jetty,  to  the  milking  shed." 

If  it  be  long,  aye,  long  ago. 

When  I  beginne  to  think  howe  long, 
Againe  I  hear  the  Lindis  flow. 

Swift  as  an  arrowe,  sharpe  and  strong; 
And  all  the  aire  it  seemeth  mee 
Bin  full  of  floating  bells  (sayth  shee), 
That  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby. 

Alle  fresh  the  level  pasture  lay. 

And  not  a  shadowe  mote  be  scene, 
Save  where  full  fyve  good  railes  awav 

[439] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance       The  steeple  towered  from  out  the  greene; 
and       ^j^(j  2q[  ^]^g  great  bell  farre  and  wide 
"    Was  heard  in  all  the  country  side 
That  Saturday  at  eventide. 

The  swannerds  where  their  sedges  are 
Moved  on  in  sunset's  golden  breath, 
The  shepherde  lads  I  heard  afarre, 
And  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth; 
Till  floating  o'er  the  grassy  sea 
Came  downe  that  kyndly  message  free, 
The  "  Brides  of  Mavis  Enderby." 

Then  some  looked  uppe  into  the  sky, 
And  all  along  where  Lindis  flows 

To  where  the  goodly  vessels  lie, 

And  where  the  lordly  steeple  shows. 

They  sayde,  "  And  why  should  this  thing  be. 

What  danger  lowers  by  land  or  sea.f* 

They  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby ! 

*'  For  evil  news  from  Mablethorpe, 
Of  pyrate  galleys  warping  down; 
For  shippes  ashore  beyond  the  scorpe, 

They  have  not  spared  to  wake  the  towne: 
But  while  the  west  bin  red  to  see, 
And  storms  be  none,  and  pyrates  flee, 
Why  ring  '  The  Brides  of  Enderby  '?  " 

I  looked  without,  and  lo!  my  sonne 

Came  riding  downe  with  might  and  main: 

(  440  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

He  raised  a  shout  as  he  drew  on,  Romance 

Till  all  the  welkin  rang  again,  «^'^ 

"  Elizabeth !  Elizabeth !  "  ^"% 

(A  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath  tT 
Than  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth.) 

"  The  olde  sea  wall  (he  cried)  is  downe, 

The  rising  tide  comes  on  apace, 
And  boats  adrift  in  yonder  towne 

Go  sailing  uppe  the  market-place." 
He  shook  as  one  that  looks  on  death: 
"God  save  you,  mother!"  straight  he  saith; 
"  Where  is  my  wife,  Elizabeth?  " 

"  Good  Sonne,  where  Lindis  winds  away 
With  her  two  bairns  I  marked  her  long. 

And  ere  yon  bells  beganne  to  play 
Afar  I  heard  her  milking  song." 

He  looked  across  the  grassy  sea. 

To  right,  to  left,  "  Ho  Enderby !  " 

They  rang  "  The  Brides  of  Enderby  ! " 

With  that  he  cried  and  beat  his  breast; 

For  lo!  along  the  river's  bed 
A  mighty  eygre  reared  his  crest. 

And  uppe  the  Lindis  raging  sped. 
It  swept  with  thunderous  noises  loud ; 
\  Shaped  like  a  curling  snow-white  clouds 
I  Or  like  a  demon  in  a  shroud. 

[  441  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Roma?ice  And  rearing  Lindis  backward  pressed, 
'^^  .  Shook  all  her  trembling  bankes  amaine; 

^    Then  madly  at  the  eygre's  breast 
T  Flung  uppe  her  weltering  walls  again. 

Then  bankes  came  downe  with  ruin  and  rout- 
Then  beaten  foam  flew  round  about — 
Then  all  the  mighty  floods  were  out. 

So  farre,  so  fast  the  eygre  drave, 

The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  beat, 
Before  a  shallow  seething  wave 

Sobbed  in  the  grasses  at  oure  feet: 
The  feet  had  hardly  time  to  flee 
Before  it  brake  against  the  knee, 
And  all  the  world  was  In  the  sea. 

Upon  the  roofe  we  sate  that  night. 
The  noise  of  bells  went  sweeping  by: 

I  marked  the  lofty  beacon  light 

Stream  from  the  church  tower,  red  and  high- 

A  lurid  mark  and  dread  to  see; 

And  awsome  bells  they  were  to  mee, 

That  in  the  dark  rang  "  Enderby." 

They  rang  the  sailor  lads  to  guide 

From  roofe  to  roofe   who  fearless  rowed; 

And  I — my  sonne  was  at  my  side, 
And  yet  the  ruddy  beacon  glowed ; 

And  yet  he  moaned  beneath  his  breath, 

f  442  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

•*  O  come  in  life,  or  come  in  death !  Jlomnnce 

0  lost!  my  love,  Elizabeth."  »»d 

Realily 

And  didst  thou  visit  him  no  moi-e?  ^ 

Thou  didst,  thou  didst  my  daughter  deare ; 

The  waters  laid  thee  at  his  doore, 
Ere  yet  the  early  dawn  was  clear. 

Thy  pretty  bairns  in  fast  embrace. 

The  lifted  sun  shone  on  thy  face, 

Downe  drifted  to  thy  dwelling-place. 

That  flow  strewed  wrecks  about  the  grass, 
That  ebbe  swept  out  the  flocks  to  sea; 

A  fatal  ebbe  and  flow,  alas ! 

To  manye  more  than  myne  and  me: 

But  each  will  mourn  his  own  (she  saith). 

And  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 

Than  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth. 

1  shall  never  hear  her  more 
B}'  the  reedy  Lindis  shore, 

"  Cusha,  Cusha,  Cusha !  "  calling. 
Ere  the  early  dews  be  falling; 
I  shall  never  hear  her  song, 
"  Cusha,  Cusha !  "  all  along, 
Where  the  sunny  Lindis  floweth, 

Goeth,  floweth; 
From  the  meads  where  melick  growethj 
When  the  water  winding  down. 
Onward  floweth  to  the  town. 

[4431 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Bomince  I  shall  never  see  her  more 

and      Where  the  reeds  and  rushes  quiver, 
^^'""^'^y  Shiver,  quiver; 

Stand  beside  the  sobbing  river, 
Sobbing,  throbbing,  in  its  falling, 
To  the  sandy  lonesome  shore ; 
I  shall  never  hear  her  calling, 
"  Leave  your  meadow  grasses  mellow, 
Mellow,  mellow; 

Quit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow ; 

Come  uppe  Whitefoot,  come  uppe  Lightfoot; 
Quit  your  pipes  of  parsley  hollow, 

Hollow,  hollow; 
Come  uppe  Lightfoot,  rise  and  follow; 
Lightfoot,  Whitefoot, 
From  your  clovers  lift  the  head ; 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  follow,  follow, 
Jetty,  to  the  milking  shed." 

Jean  Ingelow. 


The  Forsaken  Merman 

Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away; 

Down  and  away  below. 
Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay ; 
Now  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow ; 
Now  the  salt  tides  seaward  flow ; 
Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 

[444] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray.  Rcmance 

Children  dear,  let  us  away,  ««^/ 

This  way,  this  way!  ^^''"^ 


Call  her  once  before  you  go. 

Call  once  yet, 
In  a  voice  that  she  will  know: 

"  Margaret !    Margaret !  " 
Children's  voices  should  be  dear 
(Call  once  more)  to  a  mother's  ear: 
Children's  voices  wild  with  pain. 

Surely  she  will  come  again. 
Call  her  once,  and  come  away. 
This  way,  this  way ! 
"  Mother  dear,  we  cannot  stay." 
The  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret, 

Margaret!  Margaret! 

Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down. 

Call  no  more. 
One  last  look  at  the  white-walled  town, 
And  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  shorej 

Then  come  down. 
She  will  not  come  though  you  call  all  day. 

Come  away,  come  away. 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 
We  heard  the  sweet  bells  over  the  bay? 
In  the  caverns  where  we  lay, 

[445] 


r 


Reality 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  Through  the  surf  and  through  the  swell, 
and       'Yhe  far-off  sound  of  a  silver  bell? 
Sand-strewn  caverns  cool  and  deep, 
▼        Where  the  winds  are  all  asleep ; 

Where  the  spent  lights  quiver  and  gleam; 
Where  the  salt  weed  sways  in  the  stream; 
Where  the  sea-beasts  rang'd  all  round 
Feed  in  the  ooze  of  their  pasture  ground; 
Where  the  sea-snakes  coil  and  twine, 
Dry  their  mail  and  bask  in  the  brine; 
Where  great  whales  come  sailing  by, 
Sail  and  sail,  with  unshut  eye. 
Round  the  world  forever  and  aye? 

When  did  music  come  this  way? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday? 

Children  dear,  was  it  3xsterday 
(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away? 
Once  she  sat  with  you  and  me. 

On  a  red-gold  throne  in  the  heart  of  the  sea. 
And  the  youngest  sat  on  her  knee. 
She  comb'd  its  bright  hair,  and  she  tended  it 

well, 
When   down   swung  the   sound   of   the   far-off 

bell, 
She  sigh'd,  she  look'd  up  through  the  clear  green 

sea. 
She  said,  "  I  must  go,  for  my  kinsfolk  pray 
In  the  little  gray  church  on  the  shore  to-day. 

[446] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

'Twill  be  Easter-tinic  in  the  world — ah  me !  liomanct, 

And  I  lose  my  poor   soul,  INlcrman,  here  with      ""^ 

thee."  ^^*^"% 

I  said,  "  Go  up,  dear  heart,  through  the  waves :       f 
Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the  kind  sea- 
caves." 
She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the  surf  in  the 
bay. 
Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday.? 

Children  dear,  were  we  long  alone? 
The  sea  grows  storm}',  the  little  ones  moan ; 
"  Long  prayers,"   I  said,   "  in  the  world  they 

say." 
"  Come,"  I  said,  and  we  rose  through  the  surf  in 

the  bay. 
SVe  went  up  the  beach  in  the  sandy  down 
Where  the  sea-stocks  bloom,  to  the  white-wall'd 

town, 
Through  the  narrow  paved  streets,  where  all  was 

still. 
To  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  hill. 
From  the  church  came  a  murmur  of  folk  at  their 

prayers. 
But  we  stood  without  in  the  cold  blowing  airs. 
We   climb'd  on  the  graves,  on  the  stones  worn 

with  rains, 
And  we  gazed  up  the  aisle  through  the  small 

leaded  panes. 

[447] 


Reality 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  She  sate  by  the  pillar;  we  saw  her  clear; 

'^"^  "  Margaret,  hist !  come  quick,  we  are  here. 

Dear  heart,"  I  said,  "  we  are  here  alone. 
The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones  moan." 
But,  ah,  she  gave  me  never  a  look. 
For  her  eyes  were  seal'd  to  the  holy  book. 
Loud  prays  the  priest ;  shut  stands  the  door. 
Come  away,  children,  call  no  more, 
Come  away,  come  down,  call  no  more. 

Down,  down,  down, 

Down  to  the  depths  of  the  sea, 

She  sits  at  her  wheel  in  the  humming  town. 
Singing  most  joyfully. 

Hark  what  she  sings:  "  O  joy,  O  joy. 

For  the  humming  street,  and  the  child  with  its 
toy. 

For  the  priest  and  the  bell,  and  the  holy  well, 
For  the  wheel  where  I  spun, 
And  the  blessed  light  of  the  sun." 
And  so  she  sings  her  fill. 
Singing  most  joyfully. 
Till  the  shuttle  falls  from  her  hand. 
And  the  whizzing  wheel  stands  still. 

She  steals  to  the  window  and  looks  at  the  sand; 
And  over  the  sand  at  the  sea; 
And  her  eyes  are  set  in  a  stare; 
And  anon  there  breaks  a  sigh. 
And  anon  there  drops  a  tear, 
[  4*8  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

From  a  sorrow  clouded  eye,  Uomanct 

And  a  heart  sorrow  laden,  """\ 

.    ,  ,  .    ,  Rcalin} 

A  long,  long  sign,  "^ 

For  the  cold  strange  eyes  of  a  little  Mermaiden,       ? 

And  the  gleam  of  her  golden  hair. 

Come  away,  away,  children. 
Come  children,  come  down. 
The  hoarse  wind  blows  colder; 
Lights  shine  in  the  town. 
She  will  start  from  her  slumber 
When  gusts  shake  the  door; 
She  will  hear  the  winds  howling, 
Will  hear  the  waves  roar. 
We  shall  see,  while  above  us 
The  waves  roar  and  whirl, 
A  ceiling  of  amber, 
A  pavement  of  pearl. 
Singing,  "  Here  came  a  mortal. 
But  faithless  was  she. 
And  alone  dwell   forever 
The  kings  of  the  sea." 

But,  children,  at  midnight, 
When  soft  the  winds  blow. 
When  clear  falls  the  moonlightj 
When  spring-tides  are  low ; 
When  sweet  airs  come  seaward 
From  heaths  starr'd  with  broom; 
[449] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  And  high  rocks  throw  mildly 

fij'd  Qjj  ^-j^g  blanch'd  sands  a  gloom: 

"  Up  the  still,  glistening  beaches, 

▼  Up  the  creeks  we  will  hie; 

Over  banks  of  bright  seaweed 
The  ebb-tide  leaves  dry. 
We  will  gaze  from  the  sand-hills 
At  the  white  sleeping  town ; 
At  the  church  on  the  hillside — 

And  then  come  back,  down. 
Singing,  "  There  dwells  a  loved  one, 
But  cruel  is  she: 
She  left  lonely  forever 
The  kings  of  the  sea." 

Matthew  Arnold. 


r 


The  Sands  of  Dee 


"  O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home 
Across   the  sands  of  Dee ;  " 
The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  wi'  foaniy 
And  all  alone  went  she. 
j450\ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

II  Romance 

The  western  tide  crept  up  along  the  sand,  ,,    ,-, 

And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand, 
And  round  and  round  the  sand,  * 

As  far  as  eye  could  see. 
The  rolling  mist  came  down  and  hid  the  land — 
And  never  home  came  she. 

Ill 

"  Oh !  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair — 
A  tress  o'  golden  hair, 
A  drowned  maiden's  hair 
Above  the  nets  at  sea? 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair 
Among;  the  stakes  on  Dee." 

IV 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam, 
The  cruel  crawling  foam, 
The  cruel  hungry  foam. 
To  her  grave  beside  the  sea: 
But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the  cattle  home 
Across  the  sands  of  Dee! 

Charles  Kingsley. 


[*>:i 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Romance  The '' Gray  Swan" 

and 
Reality    "Oh,  tell  me,  sailor,  tell  me  true, 

Is  my  little  lad,  my  Elihu, 

A-sailing  with  your  ship?" 
Tlie  sailor's  eyes  were  dim  with  dew. 
"Yom-  little  lad,  your  Elihu?" 

He  said  with  trembling  lip, — 

"What  little  lad?  what  ship?" 

"What  little  lad?  as  if  there  could  be 

Another  such  a  one  as  he! 
What  little  lad,  do  you  say? 

Why  Elihu,  that  took  to  the  sea 

The  moment  I  put  him  off  my  knee! 
It  was  just  the  other  day 
The  'Gray  Swan'  sailed  away." 

"The  other  day?"     The  sailor's  eyes 
Stood  open  with  a  great  surprise: 

"The  other  day?  the  'Swan'?" 
His  heart  began  in  his  throat  to  rise. 
"Ay,  ay,  sir,  here  in  the  cupboard  lies 

The  jacket  he  had  on." 

"And  so  your  lad  is  gone?" 

"Gone  with  the  'Swan'?"— "And  did  she  stand 
With  her  anchor  clutching  hold  of  the  sand 
For  a  month,  and  never  stir?" 

[i5i] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

"Why,  to  bo  sure!  I've  seen  from  the  land,  Romnncr 

Like  a  lover  kissing  his  lady's  hand,  ""(^ 

The  wild  sea  kissing  her,—  "^^''^'^ 

A  sight  to  remember,  sir !  "  ^ 

**  But,  my  good  mother,  do  3^ou  know 
All  this  was  tv/enty  years  ago? 

I  stood  on  the  '  Gray  Swan's  '  deck. 
And  to  that  lad  I  saw  vou  throw. 
Taking  it  off  as  it  might  be, — so! — 

The  kerchief  from  your  neck." 

"  Ay,  and  he'll  bring  it  back !  " 


"  And  did  the  little  lawless  lad. 

That  has  made  you  sick  and  made  you  sad. 

Sail  with  the  '  Gray  Swan's  '  crew  ?  '* 
"  Lawless !     The  man  is  going  mad ! 
The  best  boy  ever  mother  had ! — 

Be  sure  he  sailed  with  the  crew ! 

What  would  you  have  him  do?  " 

"  And  has  he  never  written  line, 

Nor  sent  you  word,  nor  made  you  sign, 

To  say  he  was  alive?  " 
"  Hold !     If  'twas  wrong,  the  wrong  is  miiv?  -. 
Besides,  he  may  lie  in  the  brine; 

And  could  he  write  from  the  grave? 

Tut,  man!  what  would  you  have?  " 

\  ^^  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Homance  "  Gone  twenty  years, — a  long,  long  cruise? 
and       '*xwas  wicked  thus  your  love  to  abuse! 

'^         But  if  the  lad  still  live, 
^       And  come  back  home,  think  you  you  can 
Forgive  him  ?  "     "  Miserable  man ! 
You're  mad  as  the  sea,  you  rave! 
What  have  I  to  forgive?  " 

The  sailor  twitched  liis  shirt  so  blue, 
And  from  within  his  bosom  drew 

The  kerchief.     She  was  wild. 
"  O  God,  my  Father!  is  it  true? 
My  little  lad,  my  Elihu  I 

My  blessed  boy,  my  child! 

My  dead,  my  living  child !  " 

Alice  Cary. 

r 

The  Wrech  of  the  Hesperus 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughteJ 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  dav, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  skipper  lie  stood  beside  the  helm,  Romanoi 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth,  and 

And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow  ^^^"% 
The  smoke  now  West,  now  South.  ^ 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sailor 

Had  sailed  to  the  Spanish  main, 
"  I  pray  thee  put  into  yonder  port. 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 

And  to-night  no  moon  we  see !  " 
The  skipper  he  blew  a  whifF  from  his  pipe. 

And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  colder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  Northeast; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came   the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  Come  hither !  come  hither !  my  little  daughter. 

And  do  not  tremble  so; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coet 
Against  the  stinging  blast; 

[455] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

RomuHce  He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 
and  And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 


Reality 


"  O  father !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring ; 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?  " 
"  'T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast ! " 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  O  father !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns ; 

O  say,  what  may  it  be.''" 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea !  " 

*'  O  father  I  see  a  gleaming  light ; 

O  say,  what  may  it  be.'*  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark. 

With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies. 
The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snoW 

On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  wave 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

f  456] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between  Bomance 

A  sound  came  from  the  land;  «"^ 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf  l^ahly 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand.  f 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice. 

With  the  masts  went  by  the  board: 
Like  a  vessel  of  glass  she  stove  and  sank, — 

Ho!  ho!  the  breakers  roared! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach 

A  fisherman   stood  aghast 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast. 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed. 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus^ 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow! 

[457 1 


Reality 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Rovmnce  Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this 
and  Q^  |]jg  ^gg£  ^f  Norman's  Woe! 

Heney  Wadsavouth  Longfellow, 


r 


A  Greyport  Legend 

They  ran  through  the  streets  of  the  seaport  town ; 
They  peered  from  the  decks  of  the  ships  that 
lay: 
The  cold  sea-fog  that  comes  whitening  down 
Was  never  as  cold  or  white  as  thev. 

"  Ho,  Starbuck,  and  Pinckney,  and  Ten- 

tcrden, 
Run  for  your  shallops,  gather  your  men. 
Scatter  your  boats  on  the  lower  bay !  " 

Good  cause  for  fear!     In  the  thick  midday 

The  hulk  that  lay  by  the  rotting  pier, 
Filled  with  the  children  in  happy  play, 
Parted  its  moorings  and  drifted  clear; 
Drifted  clear  beyond  reach  or  call, — 
Thirteen  children  they  were  in  all, — 
All  adrift  in  the  lower  bay ! 

Said  a  hard-faced  skipper,  "  God  help  us  all  I 

She  will  not  float  till  the  turning  tide !  " 
Said  his  wife,  "  My  darling  will  hear  my  call, 

[4381 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Whether  in  sea  or  heaven  she  bide !  "  Rovmnce 

And  she  lifted  a  quavering  voice  and  high,     ^"'< 
Wild  and  strange  as  a  sea-bird's  cry,       ^^««'*'i^ 

Till  they  shuddered  and  wondered  at  her  side.       '^ 

The  fog  drove  down  on  each  laboring  crew, 

Veiled  each  from  each  and  the  sky  and  shore; 
There  was  not  a  sound  but  the  breath  they  drew, 
And  the  lap  of  water  and  creak  of  oar. 

And  tliey  felt  the  breath  of  the  downs 

fresh  blown 
O'er  leagues  of  clover  and  cold  gray  stone, 
But  not  from  the  lips  that  had  gone  before. 

They  came  no  more.     But  they  tell  the  tale 

That,  when  fogs  are  thick  on  the  harbor  reef. 
The  mackerel-fishers  shorten  sail ; 

For  the  signal  they  know  will  bring  relief. 

For  the  voices  of  children,  still  at  play 

In  a  phantom-hulk  that  drifts  alway 

Through  channels  whose  waters  never  fail. 

It  is  but  a  foolish  shipman's  tale, 

A  theme  for  a  poet's  idle  page ; 
But  still,  when  the  mists  of  doubt  prevail. 
And  we  lie  becalmed  by  the  shores  of  age. 
We  hear  from  the  misty  troubled  shore 
The  voice  of  the  children  gone  before, 
Drawing  the  soul  to  its  anchorage! 

Bret  Hahtb. 
[459] 


GOLDEN    NU.Mi3EKS 


Uomance  The  Glove  and  the  Lions 

n    If      King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and  loved  a 

r  royal  sport, 

And  one  day  as  his  lions  fought,  sat  looking  on 
the  court; 

The  nobles  filled  the  benches,  with  the  ladies  in 
their  pride. 

And  'mongst  them  sat  the  Count  de  Lorge,  with 
one  for  whom  he  sighed : 

And  truly  'twas  a  gallant  thing  to  see  that  crown- 
ing show, 

Valour  and  love,  and  a  king  above,  and  the  royal 
beasts  below. 

Ramp'd  and  roar'd  the  lions,  with  horrid  laugh- 
ing jaws; 

They  bit,  they  glared,  gave  blows  like  beams,  a 
wind  went  with  their  paws; 

With  wallowing  might  and  stifled  roar  they  rolled 
on  one  another, 

Till   all  the  pit  with  sand  and  mane  was  in  a 
thunderous  smother; 

The  bloody  foam  above  the  bars  came  whisking 
through  the  air; 

Said  Francis  then,  "  Faith,  gentlemen,  we're  bet- 
ter here  than  there." 
[460] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

De  Lorgc's  love  o'erhcard  the  king, — a  beauteous  Romance 

lively  dame  ("id 

With  smiling  lips  and  sharp  bright  eyes,  which      ^"^^ 

alwa3's  seem'd  the  same :  9* 

She  thought,  "  The  Count,  my  lover,  is  brave  as 

brave  can  be; 
He  surely  would  do  wondrous  things  to  show  his 

love  of  me; 
King,  ladies,  lovers,  all  look  on;  the  occasion  is 

divine ; 
I'll  drop  my  glove,  to  prove  his  love ;  great  glory 

will  be  mine." 

She  dropp'd  her  glove,  to  prove  his  love,  then 

look'd  at  him  and  smiled; 
He  bowed,  and  in  a  moment  leapt  among  the  lions 

wild : 
His  leap  was  quick,  return  was  quick,  he  has  re- 

gain'd  his   place, 
Then  threw  the  glove,  but  not  with  love,  right  in 

the  lady's  face. 
"  Well  done !  "  cried  Francis,  "  bravely  done !  " 

and  he  rose  from  where  he  sat : 
"  No  love,"  quoth  he,  "  but  vanity,  sets  love  a 

task  like  that." 

Leigh  Hunt. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  Ho'w''s  My  Boy  f 

and 
Bealitn  Ho,  sailor  of  the  sea! 

^  How's  my  boy — my  boy? 

"  What's  your  boy's  name,  good  wife, 

And  in  what  good  ship  sailed  he?  '* 

My  boy  John — 

He  that  went  to  sea — 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor? 

My  boy's  my  boy  to  me. 

You  come  back  from  sea 

And  not  know  my  John  ? 

I  might  as  well  have  asked  some  landsman 

Yonder  down  in  the  town. 

There's  not  an  ass  in  all  the  parish 

But  he  knows  my  John. 

How's  my  bo}- — my  boy? 

And  unless  you  let  me  know 

I'll  swear  you  are  no  sailor, 

Blue  jacket  or  no, 

Brass  button  or  no,  sailor, 

Anchor  and  crown  or  no ! 

Sure  his  ship  was  the  Jolly  Briton — 

"  Speak  low,  woman,  speak  low !  " 

And  why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor. 
About  my  own  boy  John? 
[462] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

If  I  was  loud  as  I  am  proud  Romantx 

I'd  sing  him  over  the  town!  ««</ 

Why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor?  ^"% 

*'  That  good  ship  went  down."  f* 

How's  ray  boy — my  boy? 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor, 

I  never  was  aboard  her. 

Be  she  afloat,  or  be  she  aground, 

Sinking  or  swimming,  I'll  be  bound 

Her  owners  can  afford  her! 

I  say,  how's  my  John? 

"  Every  man  on  board  went  down, 

Every  man  aboard  her." 

How's  my  boy — my  boy? 
What  care  I  for  the  men,  sailor? 
I'm  not  their  mother — 
How's  my  bo}' — my  boy? 
Tell  me  of  him  and  no  other! 
How's  my  boy — my  boy? 

Sydney  Dobell. 

r 

The  Child-Musician 

He  had  played  for  his  lordship's  levee, 
He  had  played  for  her  ladyship's  whimy 

Till  the  poor  little  head  was  heavy, 
And  the  poor  little  brain  would  swim. 
[  463  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance       And  the  face  grew  peaked  and  eerie, 
'^    .  And  the  large  eyes  strange  and  bright; 

And  they  said — too  late — "  He  is  weary ! 


Reality 


V  He  shall  rest,  for  at  least  to-night! 

But  at  dawn,  when  the  birds  were  waking, 
As  they  watched  in  the  silent  room, 

With  the  sound  of  a  strained  cord  breaking, 
A  something  snapped  in  the  gloom. 

'Twas  the  string  of  his  violoncello. 

And  they  heard  him  stir  in  his  bed: — 

"  Make  room  for  a  tired  little  fellow, 
"  Kind  God !  "  was  the  last  he  said. 

Austin  Dobson. 


How  They  Brought  the  Good  News  from 
Ghent  to  Aix 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris  and  he: 

I    galloped,    Dirck    galloped,    we    galloped    all 

three ; 
*'  Good  speed !  "  cried  the  watch  as  the  gate-bolts 

undrew, 
"  Speed ! "    echoed    the    wall    to    us    galloping 

through, 
Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest. 
And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

[464] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Not  a   word  to  each  other;  we  kept  the  great Rojtiance 

pace —  and 

Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never  changing    ^""^ 

our  place;  ^ 

I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup  and  set  the  pique 

right, 
Rebuckled  the  check-strap,  chained  slacker  the 

bit, 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland  a  whit. 

'Twas  a  moonset  at  starting ;  but  while  we  drew 

near 
Lokeren,   the   cocks   crew   and   twilight   dawned 

clear ; 
At  Boom  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see; 
At    DiifFeld    'twas   morning   as    plain   is   could 

be; 
And  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  we  ht  ^rd  the 

half  chime — 
So  Joris  broke  silence  with  "  Yet  there  is  t\:*X€ ! " 

At  Aerschot  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black  every  one, 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past; 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland  at  last, 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  bluff"  river  headland  its  spray; 

[4651 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Homance  And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear 
^"'^  bent  back 

For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his 
T  track ; 

And    one    eye's    black    intelligence, — ever    that 

glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master,  askance ; 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes,  which  aye  and 

anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upward  in  galloping  on. 

By    Hasselt    Dirck    groaned;    and    cried    Joris, 

"  Stay  spur ! 
Your  Roos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault's  not  in 

her; 
We'll   remember   at   Aix  " — for   one   heard   the 

quick  wheeze 
Of  her  chest,  saw  the  stretched  neck,  and  stagger^ 

ing  knees. 
And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank, 
As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 
Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  the  sky ; 
The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh ; 
'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle,  bright  stubble 

like  chaff; 
Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white. 
And  "  Gallop,"   gasped  Joris,  "  for  Aix  is  in 

sight!" 

[466] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

"  How  they'll  greet  us !  " — and  all  in  a  moment  Rnmmwi 

his  roan  f'^'f[ 

Rolled  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a  stone ;    ^  "  *^ 
And  there  was  my   Roland   to  bear  the  whole       ? 

weight 
Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from  her 

fate, 
With  his  nostrils  like  pits  full  of  blood  to  the 

brim. 
And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets'  rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buff-coat,  each  holster  let 

fall. 
Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and  all, 
Stood  up  in  the  stirrups,  leaned,  patted  his  ear, 
Called  my  Roland  his  pet-name,  my  horse  with- 
out peer — 
Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sung,  any  noise, 

bad  or  good. 
Till   at  length  into  Aix   Roland   galloped  and 
stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is  friends  flocking  round, 
As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on  the 

ground ; 
And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland  of 

mine, 
As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  measure  of 

wine, 

[467] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Uomayive  Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  consent) 
and       "Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good 
news  from  Ghent. 


Realitij 


T  Robert  Browning. 

r 

The  Inched pc  Rock 

No  stir  in  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea, 
The  ship  was  still  as  she  could  be; 
Her  sails  from  heaven  received  no  motion; 
Her  keel  was  steady  in  the  ocean. 

Without  either  sign  or  sound  of  their  shock. 
The  waves  flow'd  over  the  Inchcape  Rock; 
So  little  they  rose,  so  little  they  fell, 
They  did  not  move  the  Inchcape  Bell. 

The  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok 
Had  placed  that  Bell  on  the  Inchcape  Rock; 
On  a  buoy  in  the  storm  it  floated  and  swung, 
And  over  the  waves  its  warning  rung. 

When  the  Rock  was  hid  by  the  surge's  swell, 
The  mariners  heard  the  waniing  Bell; 
And  then  they  knew  the  perilous  Rock, 
And  blest  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok. 

The  Sun  in  heaven  was  shining  gay ; 
All  things  were  joyful  on  that  day; 
The  sea-birds  scream'd  as  they  wheel'd  round. 
And  there  was  joyance  in  their  sound. 

[468] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  buoy  of  the  Inchcape  Bell  was  seen  Romance 

A  darker  speck  on  the  ocean  green;  ^^ 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  walk'd  his  deck,  ^ 

And  he  fix'd  his  eye  on  the  darker  speck.  ? 

He  felt  the  cheering  power  of  spring; 
It  made  him  whistle,  it  made  him  sing; 
His  heart  was  mirthful  to  excess. 
But  the  Rover's  mirth  was  wickedness. 

His  eye  was  on  the  Inchcape  float ; 

Quoth  he,  "  My  men,  put  out  the  boat, 

And  row  me  to  the  Inchcape  Rock, 

And  I'll  plague  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok." 

The  boat  is  lower'd,  the  boatmen  row, 

And  to  the  Inchcape  Rock  they  go; 

Sir  Ralph  bent  over  from  the  boat. 

And  he  cut  the  Bell  from  the  Inchcape  float. 

Down  sunk  the  Bell  with  a  gurgling  sound; 

The  bubbles  rose  and  burst  around ; 

Quoth  Sir  Ralph,  "  The  next  who  comes  to  the 

Rock 
Won't  bless  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok.'* 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  sail'd  away ; 
He  scour'd  the  seas  for  many  a  day ; 
And  now,  grown  rich  with  plunder'd  store. 
He  steers  his  course  for  Scotland's  shore. 

[469  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Romance  So  thick  a  haze  o'erspreads  tlie  sky, 

and       They  cannot  see  the  Sun  on  high; 
lieahty    ^j^^  ^^^.^^^  j^^^j^  ^1^^,^  ^  ^^^^  ^jj  ^^^^ . 

?        At  evening  it  hath  died  away. 

On  the  deck  the  Rover  takes  his  stand; 
So  dark  it  is  they  see  no  land. 
Quoth  Sir  Ralph,  "  It  will  be  lighter  soon, 
For  there  is  the  dawn  of  the  rising  Moon." 

"  Canst  hear,"  said  one,  "  the  breakers  roar.? 
For  methinks  we  should  be  near  the  shore." 
"  Now  where  we  are  I   cannot  tell, 
But  I  wish  I  could  hear  the  Inchcape  Bell." 

They  hear  no  sound;  the  swell  is  strong; 
Though  the  wind  hath  fallen,  they  drift  along, 
Till  the  vessel  strikes  with  a  shivering  shock, — 
"  Oil  God !  it  is  the  Inchcape  Rock !  " 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  tore  his  hair; 
He  curs'd  himself  in  his  despair; 
The  waves  rush  in  on  every  side; 
The  ship  is  sinking  beneath  the  tide. 

But,  even  in  his  dying  fear, 
One  dreadful  sound  could  the  Rover  hear — 
A  sound  as  if,  with  the  Inchcape  Bell, 
The  fiends  below  were  ringing  his  knell. 

Robert  Southey. 

r470l 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  Night  With  a  Wolf 

Little  one,  come  to  my  knee! 

Hark,  how  the  rain  is  pouriiig 
Over  the  roof,  in  the  pitch-blick  night, 

And  the  wind  in  the  woods  a-roaring! 

Hush,  my  darling,  and  listen, 

Then  pay  for  the  story  with  kisses; 

Father  was  lost  in  the  pitch-black  night. 
In  just  such  a  storm  as  this  is ! 

High  up  on  the  lonely  mountains, 

Where  the  wild  men  watched  and  waited ; 

Wolves  in  the  forest,  and  bears  in  the  bush. 
And  I  on  my  path  belated. 

The  rain  and  the  night  together 

Came  down,  and  the  wind  came  after, 

Bending  the  props  of  the  pine-tree  roof. 
And  snapping  many  a  rafter. 

I  crept  along  in  the  darkness. 

Stunned,  and  bruised,  and  blinded, — 

Crept  to  a  fir  with  thick-set  boughs, 
And  a  sheltering  rock  behind  it. 

There,  from  the  blowing  and  raining, 
Crouching,  I  sought  to  hide  me: 

Something  rustled,  two  green  eyes  shonCj 
And  a  wolf  lay  down  beside  me. 
[4T1] 


Uomanot 

and 
Renlitv 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Romafice  Little  one,  be  not  frightened; 

"""■  I  and  the  wolf  together, 

"  Side  by  side,  through  the  long,  long  night 

?  Hid  from  the  awful  weather. 

His  wet  fur  pressed  against  me; 

Each  of  us  warmed  the  other; 
Each  of  us  felt,  in  the  stormy  dark, 

That  beast  and  man  was  brother. 

And  when  the  falling  forest 
No  longer  crashed  in  warning. 

Each  of  us  went  from  our  hiding-place 
Forth  in  the  wild,  wet  morning. 

Darling,  kiss  me  in  payment ! 

Hark,  how  the  wind  is  roaring; 
Father's  house  is  a  better  place 

When  the  stormy   rain  is  pouring! 

Bayard  Taylor. 


The  Dove  of  Dacca 

The  freed  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings — 

And  the  thorns  have  covered  the  city  of  Gaur. 
Dove- — dove — oh,  homing  dove! 
Little  white  traitor,  with  woe  on  thy  wings ! 


I 


GOLDEN    ^ UMBERS 

'I'he  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  under  the  wall;  Bomanoe 

He  set  in  his  bosom  a  dove  of  fliglit —  ""'^_ 

"  If  she  return,  be  sure  that  I  fall."  " 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove!  iT 

Pressed  to  his  heart  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

"  Fire  the  palace,  the  fort,  and  the  keep — 

Leave  to  the  foeman  no  spoil  at  all. 
In  the  flame  of  the  palace  lie  down  and  sleep 

If  the  dove,  if  the  dove — if  the  homing  dove 

Come  and  alone  to  the  palace  wall." 

The  Kings   of  the   North  they   were  scattered 
abroad — 
The  Rajah  of  Dacca  he  slew  them  all. 
Hot  from  slaughter  he  stooped  at  the  ford, — 
And    the    dove— the    dove — oh,    the    homing 

dove ! 
She  thought  of  her  cote  on  the  palace  wall. 

She  opened  her  wings  and  she  flew  away — 

Fluttered  away  beyond  recall; 
She  came  to  the  palace  at  break  of  day. 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove ! 

Flying  so  fast  for  a  kingdom's  fall. 

The  Queens  of  Dacca  they  slept  in  flame — 
Slept  in  the  flame  of  the  palace  old 


To  save  their  honour  from  Moslem  shame. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  And    the    dove — the    dove— oh,    the    homing 
and  dove ! 

"  She  cooed  to  her  young  where  the  smoke-cloud 
?  rolled. 

The  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  far  and  fleet, 
Followed  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  fly, 

He  came  and  the  palace  was  black  at  his  feet; 
And    the    dove — the    dove — oh,    the    homing 

dove ! 
Circled  alone  in  the  stainless  sky. 

So  the  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings ; 

So  the  thorns  covered  the  city  of  Gaur, 

And  Dacca  was  lost  for  a  white  dove's  wings« 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove ! 

Dacca  is  lost  from  the  roll  of  the  kings! 

RuDYARD  Kipling. 


The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen 

I 

The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen 
Awoke  ere  dawn  of  day; 

Under  the  dewy  green  leaves 
Went  he  forth  to  pray. 

The  lake  around  his  island 

Lay  smooth,  and  dark  and  deep, 

f  474J 


I 


The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen 
Arose  upon  his  feet; 

[475) 


Reality 

r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And,  wrapt  in  a  misty  stillness,  Itoimnce 

The  mountains  were  all  asleep.  ^"^ 

Low  kneel'd  the  Abbot  Connac, 

When  the  dawn  was  dim  and  gray; 
The  prayers  of  his  holy  office 

He  faithfully  'gan  say. 

Low  kneel'd  the  Abbot  Cormac, 

When  the  dawn  was  waxing  red. 
And  for  his  sins'  forgiveness 

A  solemn  prayer  he  said. 

Low  kneel'd  that  holy  Abbot 

When  the  dawn  was  waxing  clear; 
And  he  pray'd  with  loving-kindness 

For  his  convent  brethren  dear. 

Low  kneel'd  that  blessed  Abbot, 

When  the  dawn  was  waxing  bright; 
He  pray'd  a  great  prayer  for  Ireland, 

He  pray'd  with  all  his  might. 

Low  kneel'd  that  good  old  father. 

While  the  sun  began  to  dart ; 
He  pray'd  a  prayer  for  all   mankind* 

He  pray'd  it  from  his  heart. 


II 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

lioniance  He  heard  a  small  bird  singing, 
and  And,  oh,  but  it  sung  sweet! 


Reality 


He  heard  a  white  bird  singing  wel' 

Within  a  holly -tree; 
A  song  so  sweet  and  happy 

Never  before  heard  he. 

It  sung  upon   a  hazel. 

It  sung  upon  a  thorn ; 
He  had  never  heard  such  music 

Since  the  hour  tliat  he  was  bom. 

It  sung  upon  a  sycamore, 

It  sung  upon  a  briar; 
To  follow  the  song  and  hearken 

This  Abbot  could  never  tire. 

Till  at  last  he  well  bethought  him 

He  might  no  longer  stay ; 
So  he  bless'd  the  little  white  singing-bird% 

And  gladly  went  his  way. 

Ill 

But  when  he  came  to  his  Abbey  walls, 
He  found  a  wondrous  change; 

He  saw  no  friendly  faces  there. 
For  every   face  Avas  strange. 

The  strangers  spoke  unto  him  ; 
And  he  heard  froa\  all  and  each 

U76J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  foreign  tone  of  the  Sassenach,  "Romance 

Not  wholesome  Irish  speech.  "'^^{ 

liealilj/ 

Then  the  oldest  monk  came  fonvard,  ^ 

In  Irish  tongue  spake  he: 
"  Thou  wearest  the  holy  Augustine's  dress, 

And  who  hath  given  it  to  thee  ?  " 

*'  I  wear  the  holy  Augustine's  dress, 

And  Cormac  is  my  name, 
The  Abbot  of  this  good  Abbey 

By  grace  of  God  I  am. 

"  I  went  forth  to  pray,  at  the  dawn  of  day ; 

And  when  my  praj^ers  were  said, 
I  hearkened  awhile  to  a  little  bird 

That  sung  above  my  head." 

The  monks  to  him  made  answer, 

"  Two  hundred  years  have  gone  o'er, 
Since  our  Abbot  Cormac  went  through  the  gate, 

And  never  was  heard  of  more. 

*'  Matthias  now  is  our  Abbot, 

And  twentjT^  have  passed  away. 
The  stranger  is  lord  of  Ireland; 

We  live  in  an  evil  day." 

IV 

**  Now  give  me  absolution ; 
For  my  time  k  como,"  said  ht« 


Romance 

and 

Reality 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

And  they  gave  him  absolution 
As  speedily  as  might  be. 

Then,  close  outside  the  window, 

The  sweetest  song  they  heard 
That  ever  yet  since  the  world  began 

Was  uttered  by  any  bird. 

The  monks  looked  out  and  saw  the  bird, 
Its  feathers  all  white  and  clean; 

And  there  in  a  moment,  beside  it. 
Another  white  bird  was  seen. 

Those  two  they  sung  together. 

Waved  their  white  wings,  and  fled; 

Flew  aloft,  and  vanished; 

But  the  good  old  man  was  dead. 

They  buried  his  blessed  body 

Where  lake  and  greensward  meet; 

A  carven  cross  above  his  head, 
A  holly-bush  at  his  feet; 

Where  spreads  the  beautiful  water 

To  gay  or  cloudy  skies, 
And  the  purple  peaks  of  Killarney 

From  ancient  woods  arise. 

William  Allingham. 


[4781 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Cavalier's  Escape  Romance 

(Old 
Trample!  trample!  went  the  roan,  Reality 

Trap  !  trap !  went  the  gray  ;  ^ 

But  pad !  pad!  pad  !  like  a  thing  that  was  mad, 

My  chestnut  broke  away. 
It  was  just  five  miles   from  Salisbury  to^vTi, 

And  but  one  hour  to  day. 

Thud!  thud!  came  on  the  heavy  roan, 

Rap !  RAP !  the  mettled  gray ; 
But  my  chestnut  mare  was  of  blood  so  rare, 

That  she  showed  them  all  the  way. 
Spur  on !  spur  on ! — I  doffed  m}'  hat, 

And  wished  them  all  good-day. 

They  splashed  through  miry  rut  and  pool, — • 

Splintered  through  fence  and  rail; 
But  chestnut  Kate  switched  over  the  gate, — 

I  saw  them  droop  and  tail. 
To  Salisbury  town — but  a  mile  of  down. 

Once  over  this  brook  and  rail. 

Trap !  trap !  I  heard  their  echoing  hoofs 

Past  the  walls  of  mossy  stone; 
The  roan  flew  on  at  a  staggering  pace, 

But  blood  is  better  than  bone. 
I  patted  old  Kate,  and  gave  her  the  spur, 

For  I  knew  it  was  all  my  own. 

[479] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Uomance  But   trample !   trample !   came  their   steeds, 


and 
Realiij/ 


And  I  saw  their  v/olf's  C3"es  burn ; 
I  felt  like  a  royal  hart  at  bay, 
^  And  made  me  ready  to  turn, 

I  looked  where  highest  grew  the  Maj^, 

And  deepest  arched  the  fern. 

I  flew  at  the  first  knave's  sallow  throat; 

One  blow,  and  he  was  down. 
The  second  rogue  fired  twice,  and  missed ; 

I  sliced  the  villain's  crown, — 
Clove  through  the  rest,  and  flogged  brave  Kate, 

Fast,  fast  to  Salisbury  town! 

Pad !  pad !  they  came  on  the  level  sward, 

Tliud !  thud  !  upon  the  sand, — 
With  a  gleam  of  swords  and  a  burning  match, 

And  a  shaking  of  flag  and  hand; 
But  one  long  bound,  and  I  passed  the  gate. 

Safe  from  the  canting  band. 

Walter  Thornbury. 

'^ 
? 

The  Pled  Piper  of  Hamelm 

I 

Hamelin  town's  in  Brunswick, 

By  famous  Hanover  city ; 
The  River  Wcser,  deep  and  wide. 
Washes  its  walls  on  the  southern  side; 

[480] 


A 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  pleasantcr  spot  you  never  spied ;  Pomance 

But,  when  begins  my  ditty,  /""^ 

Almost  five  hundred  years  ago, 

To  see  the  townsfolk  suffer  so  ^ 

From  vermin,  was  a  pity. 

II 

Rats! 
They  fought  the  dogs  and  killed  the  cats, 

And  bit  the  babies  in  the  cradles, 
And  ate  the  cheeses  out  of  the  \ats. 

And  licked  the  soup  from  the  cooks'  own  ladles, 
Split  open  the  kegs  of  salted  sprats, 
Made  nests  inside  men's  Sunda}^  hats, 
And  even  spoiled  the  women's  chats, 

By  drowning  their  speaking 

With  shrieking  and  squeaking 
In  fifty  different  sharps  and  flats. 

Ill 

At  last  the  people  in  a  body 

To  the  Town  Hall  came  flocking: 
"  'Tis  clear,"  cried  they,  "  our  Mayor's  a  noddy, 

"  And  as  for  our  Corporation— r;hocking 
"  To  think  we  buy  gowns  lined  Avitli  ermine 
*'  For  dolts  that  can't  or  won't  determine 
"  What's  best  to  rid  us  of  our  vermin ! 

[  481 1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  "  You  hope,  because  you're  old  and  obese, 
and       "  'Pq  fji^d  iji  i\^Q  furry  civic  robe  ease? 

"    "  Rouse  up,  Sirs !     Give  your  brains  a  racking 
^        "  To  find  the  remedy  we're  lacking, 

*'  Or,  sure  as  fate,  we'll  send  you  packing !  " 
At  this  the  Mayor  and  Corporation 
Quaked  with  a  mighty  consternation. 

IV 

An  hour  they  sate  in  Council; 
At  length  the  Mayor  broke  silence: 
*'  For  a  guilder  I'd  my  ermine  gown  sell ; 
*'  I  wish  I  were  a  mile  hence ! 
"  It's  easy  to  bid  one  rack  one's  brain — 
"  I'm  sure  my  poor  head  aches  again, 
**  I've  scratched  it  so,  and  all  in  vain. 
*'  Oh,  for  a  trap,  a  trap,  a  trap !  " 
Just  as  he  said  this,  what  should  hap 
At  the  chamber  door,  but  a  gentle  tap? 
"Bless  us!"  cried  the  Mayor,  "what's  that?" 
(With  the  Corporation  as  he  sat. 
Looking  little  though  wondrous  fat ; 
Nor  brighter  was  his  eye,  nor  moister 
Than  a  too-long-opened  oyster. 
Save  when  at  noon  his  paunch  grew  mutinous 
For  a  plate  of  turtle  green  and  glutinous. ) 
*'  Only  a  scraping  of  shoes  on  the  mat ! 
*'  Anything  like  the  sound  of  a  rat 
**  Makes  my  heart  go  pit-a-pat !  " 

[482] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERfe 

^  Rumamx 

*'  Come  in !  "  the  Mayor  cried,  looking  bigger,        ""^ 
And  in  did  come  the  strangest  figure!  ™ 

His  queer  long  coat,  from  heel  to  head  ? 

Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red; 
And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin, 
With  sharp  blue  eyes,  each  like  a  pin, 
And  light  loose  hair,  yet  swarthy  skin, 
No  tuft  on  cheek  nor  beard  on  chin, 
But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and  in; 
There  was  no  guessing  his  kith  and  kin ; 
And  nobody  could  enough  admire 
The  tall  man  and  his  quaint  attire. 
Quoth  one :  "  It's  as  if  my  great-grandsire, 
"  Starting  up  at  the  trump  of  Doom's  tone, 
"  Had  walked  this  way  from  his  painted  tomb- 
stone ! " 

VI 

He  advanced  to  the  council  table: 
And,  "  Please  your  honours,"  said  he,  "  I'm  able, 
"  By  means  of  a  secret  charm,  to  draw 
"  All  creatures  living  beneath  the  sun, 
"  That  creep,  or  swim,  or  fly,  or  run, 
"  After  me  so  as  you  never  saw ! 
"  And  I  chiefly  use  ni}'  charm 
"  On  creatures   that  do  people  harm, — 
*'  The  mole,  the  toad,  the  newt,  the  viper: 
"  And  people  call  me  the  Pied  Piper." 

[4.83] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Romance  (And  here  they  noticed  round  his  neck 
and       ^  scarf  of  red  and  yellow  stripe 

^    To  match  his  coat  of  the  self-same  cheque; 
▼        And  at  the  scarf's  end  hung  a  pipe; 

And  his  fingers,  they  noticed,  were  ever  straying 

As  if  impatient  to  be  playing 

Upon  his  pipe,  as  low  it  dangled 

Over  his  vesture  so  old-fangled.) 

"  Yet,"   said  he,  "  poor  piper  as  I  am, 

*'  In  Tartary  I  freed  the  Cham, 

"  Last  June,  from  his  huge  swarm  of  gnats ; 

*'  I  eased  in  Asia  the  Nizam 

"  Of  a  monstrous  brood  of  vampyre  bats : 

"  And  as  for  what  your  brain  bewilders, 

*'  If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rats 

*'  Will  you  give  me  a  thousand  guilders?  " 

*'  One !  fifty  thousand !  "  was  the  exclamation 

Of  the  astonished  Mayor  and  Corporation. 

VII 

Into  the  street  the  Piper  stept, 

Smiling  first  a  little  smile. 
As  if  he  knew  what  magic  slept 

In  his  quiet  pipe  the  while; 
Then,  like  a  musical  adept. 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  wrinkled. 
And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes  twinkled, 
Like  a  candle-flame  where  salt  is  sprinkled ; 

If  484  1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

And  ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  had  uttered,    Romance 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered ;  "'"^ 

And  the  muttering  grew  to  a   grumbling;  ^'^^y 

And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  rumbling;        f 
And  out  of  the  houses  the  rats  came  tumbling. 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats, 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  grey  rats,  tawny  rats. 
Grave  old  plodders,  gay  young  friskers, 

Fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  cousins, 
Cocking  tails,  and  pricking  whiskers, 

Families  by  tens  and  dozens, 
Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives — 
Followed  the  Piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped,  advancing, 
And  step  for  step  they  followed  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  River  Wcser, 
Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished ! 
■ — Save  one,  who,  stout  as  Julius  Cassar, 
Swam  acrass  and  lived  to  carry 
(As  he,  the  manuscript  he  cherished) 
To  Rat-land  home  his  commentary: 
Which  was,  "  At  the  first  shrill  note  of  the  pipe 
'•'  I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe, 
"  And  putting  apples,  wondrous  ripe, 
"  Into  a  cider-press's  gripe : 
"  And  a  moving  away  of  pickle-tub  boards, 
"  And  a  leaving  ajar  of  conserve-cupboards, 
•'  And  a  drawing  the  corks  of  train-oil-fla3k8, 
"  And  a  breaking  the  hoops  of  buttey-casks ; 


Reality 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

ftomance  "  And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 
^nd       "  (Sweeter  far  than  by  harp  or  by  psaltery 
"Is  breathed)  called  out,  'Oh,  rats,  rejoice! 
"  '  The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  drysaltery ! 
"  '  So  munch  on,  crunch  on,  take  your  nuncheon, 
"  '  Breakfast,    dinner,    supper,   luncheon ! ' 
"  And  just  as  a  bulky  sugar-puncheon, 
*'  All  ready  staved,  like  a  great  sun  shone 
"  Glorious,  scarce  an  inch  before  me, 
"  Just  as  methought  it  said,  '  Come,  bore  me ! ' 
— I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me." 


(( 


VIII 

You  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin  people 
Ringing  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the  steeple. 
*'  Go,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "  and  get  long  poles, 
"  Poke  out  the  nests,  and  block  up  the  holes ! 
"  Consult  with  carpenters  and  builders, 
'*  And  leave  in  our  town  not  even  a  trace 
"  Of  the  rats !  "    When  suddenly,  up  the  feice 
Of  the  Piper  perked  in  the  market-place. 
With  a,  "  First,  if  you  please,  my  thousand  guil- 
ders ! » 

IX 

A  thousand  guilders !     The  jNIayor  looked  blue ; 
So  did  the  Corporation,  too. 
For  council  dinners  made  rare  havoc 
With  Claret,  Moselle,  Vin-de-Grave,  Hock; 

[  486  ] 


i 


GOLDEN    NUxMBERS 

And  half  the  money  would  replenish  Ronumce 

Their  cellar's  biggest  butt  with  Rhenish.  ««^ 

To  pay  this  sum  to  a  wandering  fellow,  lieaiuif 

With  a  gypsy  coat  of  red  and  yellow!  ? 

"  Beside,"   quoth   the   ]\Iayor,   with    a  knowing 

wink, 
"  Our  business  was  done  at  the  river's  brink ; 
*'  We  saw  with  our  eyes  the  vermin  sink, 
"  And  what's  dead  can't  come  to  life,  I  think. 
*'  So  friend,  we're  not  the  folks  to  shrink 
"  From   the   duty   of  giving  you  something  to 

drink, 
"  And  a  matter  of  money  to  put  in  your  poke ; 
"  But,  as  for  the  guilders,  what  we  spoke 
"  Of  them,  as  you  very  well  know,  was  in  joke. 
"  Beside,  our  losses  have  made  us  thrifty. 
"  A  thousand  guilders !  come,  take  fifty !  " 


The  Piper's  face  fell,  and  he  cried, 
"  No  trifling !    I  can't  wait,  beside ! 
"  I've  promised  to  visit  by  dinner-time 
"  Bagdad,  and  accept  the  prime 
"  Of  the  Head-Cook's  pottage,  all  he  's  rich  in, 
"  For  having  left,  in  the  Caliph's  kitchen, 
"  Of  a  nest  of  scorpions  no  survivor. 
"  With  him  I  proved  no  bargain-driver ; 
"  With  you,  don't  think  I'll  bate  a  stiver  I 

{487  1 


GOLDExV   NUMBERS 

Romance  "  And  folks  who  put  me  in  a  passion 

and       a  lyjav  find  mc  pipe  after  another  fashion." 
Reality  •  ^  ^ 

r  XI 

"  How !  "  cried  the  Major,  "  d'ye  think  I'll  brook 

"Being  worse  treated  than  a  Cook? 

"  Insulted  by  a  lazy  ribald 

*'  With  idle  pipe  and  vesture  piebald ! 

**  You  threaten  us,  fellow !     Do  yonv  worst ; 

"  Blow  your  pipe  there  till  you  burst !  " 

XII 

Once  more  he  stept  into  the  street, 

And  to  his  lips  again 
Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth,  straight  cane; 

And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (such  sweet 
Soft  notes  as  yet  musician's  cunning 

Never  gave  the  enraptured  air) 
There  was  a  rustling  that  seemed  like  a  bustling 
Of  merry  crowds  justling  at  pitching  and  hus- 
tling, 
Small  feet  were  pattering,  wooden  shoes  clatter- 
ing. 
Little  hands  clapping  and  little  tongues  chatter- 

ing» 
And,  like  fowls  In  a  farmyard  when  barley  is 
scattering. 
Out  came  the  children  running. 

[488  J 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

And  all  the  little  boys  and  girls,  Romanet 

With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls,  "*^ 

And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls,  ^ajtty 

Tripping  and  skipping  ran  merrily  after  T 

The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and  laughter. 


XIII 

The  Mayor  was  dumb,  and  the  Council  stood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of  wood. 
Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by, 
' — Could  only  follow  with  the  eye 
That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  back. 
And  now  the  Mayor  was  on  the  rack. 
And  the  wretched  Council's  bosoms  beat. 
As  the  piper  turned  from  the  High  Street 
To  where  the  Weser  rolled  its  waters 
Right  in  the  way  of  their  sons  and  daughters ! 
However  he  turned  from  South  to  West, 
And  to  Koppelberg  Hill  his  steps  addressed, 
And  after  him  the  children  pressed ; 
Great  Avas  the  joy  in  every  breast, 
"  He  never  can  cross  that  mighty  top ! 
*'  He's  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop, 
"  And  we  shall  see  our  children  stop !  " 
When,  lo,  as  they  reached  the  mountain  side, 
A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide, 

[  *89  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Beulitt/ 


Uomance  As  if  a  cavern  was  suddenly  hollowed ; 
^rtwa       And  the  Piper  advanced,  and  the  children  fol- 
lowed, 
And  when  all  were  in  to  the  very  last, 
The  door  in  the  mountain-side  shut  fast. 
Did  I  say  all?     No!     One  was  lame, 
And  could  not  dance  the  whole  of  the  way ; 
And  in  after  years,  if  3'ou  would  blame 
His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say, — 
*'  It's  dull  in  our  town  since  my  playmates  left ! 
*'  I  can't  forget  that  I'm  bereft 
"  Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see, 
*'  Which  the  Piper  also  promised  me : 
*'  For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous  land, 
"  Joining  the  town  and  just  at  hand, 
*'  Where  waters  gushed  and  fruit  trees  grew, 
**  And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue, 
*'  And  everything  was  strange  and  new ; 
*'  The  sparrows  were  brighter  than  peacocks  here, 
*'  And  their  dogs  outran  our  fallow-deer, 
*'  And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings, 
*'  And  horses  were  born  with  eagles'  wings : 
"  And  just  as  I  became  assured 
"  My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 
*'  The  music  stopped,  and  I  stood  still, 
*'  And  found  myself  outside  the  hill, 
*'  licft  alone  against  my   will, 
*'  To  go  now  limping  as  before, 

*'  And  never  hear  of  that  country  mor^ ! 

[  490  ] 


d 


» 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


■A.IV  Rommict 

In! 
There  came  into  many  a  burgher's  pate 


Alas,  alas  for  Hamchn !  ..    ,-, 


A  text  which  says  that  Heaven's  gate  • 

Opes  to  the  rich  at  as  easy  rate 
As  the  needle's  eye  takes  a  camel  in ! 
The  IVIayor  sent  East,  West,  North,  and  South, 
To  offer  the  Piper,  by  word  of  mouth. 

Wherever  it  was  man's  lot  to  find  him, 
Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content. 
If  he'd  only  return  the  way  he  went. 

And  bring  the  children  behind  him. 
But  when  they  saw  'twas  a  lost  endeavour, 
And  Piper  and  dancers  were  gone  for  ever, 
They  made  a  decree  that  lawyers  never 

Should  think  their  records  dated  duly 
If,  after  the  day  of  the  month  and  the  year, 
These  words  did  not  as  well  appear, 
"  And  so  long  after  what  happened  here 

"  On  the  Twenty-second  of  July, 
"  Thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six  " : 
And  the  better  in  memorv  to  fix 
The  place  of  the  children's  last  retreat, 
They  called  it,  the  Pied  Piper's  Street — 
Where  any  one  playing  on  pipe  or  tabor 
Was  sure  for  the  future  to  lose  his  labour. 
Nor  suffered  they  hostelry  or  tavern 

To  shock  with  mirth  a  street  so  solemn; 

1*91] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Honmnce  But  opposite  the  place  of  the  cavern 
and  They  wrote  the  story  on  a  column, 

And  on  the  great  church-window  painted 

The  same,  to  make  the  world  acquainted 

How  their  children  were  stolen  away, 

And  there  it  stands  to  this  very  day. 

And  I  must  not  omit  to  say 

That  in  Transylvania  there's  a  tribe 

Of  alien  people  that  ascribe 

The  outlandish  wa3^s  and  dress 

On  which  their  neighbours  lay  such  stress. 

To  their  fathers  and  mothers  having  risen 

Out  of  some  subterraneous  prison 

Into  which  they  were  trepanned 

Long  ago  in  a  mighty  band 

Out  of  Hamelin  town  in  Brunswick  land. 

But  how  or  why,  they  don't  understand. 

XV 

So,  Willy,  let  j'ou  and  me  be  wipers 

Of  scores  out  with  all  men,— especially  pipers ! 

And,  whether  they  pipe  us  free  from  rats  or  from 

mice. 
If  we've  promised  them  aught,  let  us  keep  out 


promise ! 


Robert  Browning. 


[492] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Herve  Riel  Jiomancc 

On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred   Jif-ality 

ninety -two,  ^^  * 

Did    the    Enghsh    fight    the    French, — woe    to 

France ! 
And,  the  thirty-first  of  May,  helter-skelter  thro' 

the  blue, 
Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  porpoises  a  shoal  of 

sharks  pursue. 
Came  crowding  ship  on  ship  to  St.  Malo  on  the 

Ranee, 
With  the  English  fleet  in  view. 

'Twas  the  squadron  that  escaped,  with  the  victor 

in  full  chase; 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship, 

Damf  reville : 
Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small. 
Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all; 
And  they  signalled  to  the  place 
"  Help  the  winners  of  a  race ! 
Get  us  guidance,  give  us  harbour,  take  us  quick — 

or,  quicker  still. 
Here's  the  English  can  and  will !  " 

Then  the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and 

leapt  on  board ; 
"  Why,  what  hope  or  chance  have  ships  like  these 

to  pass  ?  "  laughed  they : 
[493] 


Reality 

r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

ilotfia/ice  "  Rocks  to  starboard,  rocks  to  port,  all  the  pas- 
«/m  sage  scarred  and  scored. 

Shall  the  Formidable  here  with  her  twelve  and 

eighty  guns 
Think  to  make   the  river-mouth  by  the  single 

narrow  way. 
Trust  to  enter  where  'tis  ticklish  for  a  craft  of 

twenty  tons. 
And  with  flow  at  full  beside? 
Now,  'tis  slackest  ebb  of  tide. 
Reach  the  mooring?     Rather  say, 
While  rock  stands  or  water  runs, 
Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay ! " 

Then  was  called  a  council  straight. 

Brief  and  bitter  the  debate: 

"  Here's  the  English  at  our  heels ;  would  you 

have  them  take  in  tow 
All  that's  left  us  of  the  fleet,  linked  together  stem 

and  bow, 
For  a  prize  to  Plymouth  Sound  ? 
Better  run  the  ships  aground !  " 

(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech.) 
Not  a  minute  more  to  wait! 
"  Let  the  Captains  all  and  each 
Shove  ashore,  then  blow  up,  bum  the  vessels  on 

the  beach ! 
France  must  undergo  her  fate. 

[494] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

"  Give  the  word  !  "     But  no  such  word  Rov)ance 

Was  ever  spoke  or  heard ;  ^""^ 

For  up  stood,  for  out  stepped,  for  in  struck  amid        ,   ™ 

all  these  i 

— A  Captain?     A  Lieutenant?     A  Mate — first, 

second,  third? 
No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet 
With  his  betters  to  compete! 
But  a  simple  Breton  sailor  pressed  by  Tourville 

for  the  fleet, 
.A  poor  coasting-pilot  he,  Herve  Riel  the  Croi- 

sickese. 
And,  "  What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here?  " 

cries  Herve  Riel: 
"  Are  you  mad,  you  Malouins?    Are  you  cowards, 

fools,  or  rogues? 
Talk  to  me  of  rocks  and  shoals,  me  who  took  the 

soundings,  tell 
On  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every 

swell 
'Twixt  the  offing  here  and  Greve  where  the  river 

disembogues  ? 
Are  you  bought  by  English  gold  ?    Is  it  love  the 

lying's  for? 
Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day. 
Have  I  piloted  your  bay. 

Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  foot  of  Soli- 
dor. 

[495] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Homancc  "  Burn  the  fleet  and  ruin  France?     That  were 

and  worse  than  fitty  Hogues ! 

B^alily    gj^g^  ^i^gy  j.^^^  J  gpeak  the  truth !     Sirs,  believe 

me  there's  a  way! 
Only  let  me  lead  the  line, 
Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer, 
Get  this  Formidable  clear, 
Make  the  others  follow  mine, 
And  I  lead  them,  most  and  least,  by  a  passage  1 

know  well, 
Right  to  Solidor  past  Greve, 
And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound ; 
And  if  one  ship  misbehave, 
— Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground. 
Why,    I've    nothing   but    my    life,— her*^'s    i-^' 

head !  "  cries  Hei-A'e  Riel. 

Not  a  minute  more  to  wait. 

"  Steer  us  in,  then,  small  and  great  1 

Take  the  helm,  lead  the  line,  save  the  squadron !  '* 

cried  his  chief. 
"  Captains,  give  the  sailor  place ! 
He  is  Admiral,  in  brief." 
Still  the  north-wind,  by  God's  grace.' 
See  the  noble  fellow's  face, 
As  the  big  ship  with  a  bound, 
Clears  the  entry  like  a  hound, 
Jfeeps  the  paasaga  as  its  \m\\  pf  way  were  thfi 

^ide  seas  profound! 


G  ;LDii:N    NUMBERS 

See,  safe  thro'  shoal  and  rock,  Uomanct 

How  they  follow  in  a  flock,  ""^^ 

Not  a  sliip  that  misbehaves,  not  a  keel  that  grates    "    '  ^ 

the  ground,  ^ 

Not  a  spar  that  comes  to  grief! 
The  peril,  see,  is  past, 
All  are  harboured  to  the  last. 
And  just  as  Herve  Riel  hollas  "  Anchor!  " — sure 

as  fate 
Up  the  English  come,  too  late! 

So,  the  storm  subsides  to  calm: 

They  see  the  green  trees  wave 

On  the  heights  o'erlooking  Greve. 

Hearts  that  bled  are  stanched  with  balm. 

"  Just  our  rapture  to  enhance. 

Let  the  English  rake  the  ba}''. 

Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance^ 

As  they  cannonade  away ! 

'Neath  rampircd  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the 

Ranee !  " 
How   hope  succeeds   despair  on    each  Captain's 

countenance ! 
Out  burst  all  with  one  accord, 
"  This  is  Paradise  for  Hell ! 
Let  France,  let  France's  King 
Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing !  '^ 
What  a  shout,  and  all  one  word, 
*'  Herve  Riel !  " 

[497  1 


Reality 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Rovuince  As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more, 
j"j.^      Not  a  symptom  of  surprise 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  e^'es, 
Just  the  same  man  as  before. 


Then  said  Damfreville,  "  My  friend, 
I  must  speak  out  at  the  end, 
Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard. 
Praise  is  deeper  than  the  hps : 
You  Have  saved  the  King  his  ships, 
ifou  must  name  your  own  reward. 
'Faith  our  sun  was  near  echpse! 
Demand  whate'er  you  will, 
France  remains  your  debtor  still. 
Ask  to  heart's  content  and  have!  or  my  name's 
not  Damfreville." 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 

On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke, 

As  the  honest  heart  laughed  tlu'ough 

Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue : 

"  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say, 

Since  on  board  the  duty's  done, 

And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point,  what  is 

it  but  a  run.P — 
Since  'tis  ask  and  have,  I  may — 
Since  the  others  go  ashore — 
Come!     A  good  whole  holiday! 

[498] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife,  whom  I  call  Ihc  li^»»("i<'c 

Belle  Aurore!"  ./"'/i 

licality 

That  he  asked  and  that  he  got, — nothing  more.  r^ 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost: 

Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 

In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell; 

Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 

On  a  single  fishing  smack. 

In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to 

wrack 
All   that   France   saved   from   the   fight   whence 

England  bore  the  bell. 
Go  to  Paris:  rank  on  rank 
Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 
On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank ! 
You  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to  Herve 

Riel. 
So,  for  better  and  for  worse, 
Herve  Riel,  accept  my  verse! 
In  my  verse,  Herve  Riel,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,  honour  France,  love  thy  wife, 

the  Belle  Aurore ! 

Robert  Browning. 


[499] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


Romance  Vision  of  Belshazzar. 

and 
Reality  The  King  was  on  his  throne, 

The  Satraps  throng'd  the  hall  J 
A  thousand  bright  lamps  shone 

O'er  that  high  festival. 
A  thousand  cups  of  gold, 

In  Judah  deem'd  divine — 
Jehovah's  vessels  hold 

The  godless  Heathen's  wine. 

In  that  same  hour  and  hall, 

The  fingers  of  a  hand 
Came  forth  against  the  wall. 

And  wrote  as  if  on  sand : 
The  fingers  of  a  man — 

A  solitary  hand 
Along  the  letters  ran, 

And  traced  them  like  a  wand. 

The  monarch  saw,  and  shook, 

And  bade  no  more  rejoice ; 
All  bloodless  wax'd  his  look, 

And  tremulous  his  voice. 
'^'  Let  the  men  of  lore  appear. 

The  wisest  of  the  earth. 
And  expound  the  words  of  fear. 

Which  mar  our  royal  mirth." 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Chaldca's  seers  arc  good,  Romanct 

But  here  they  have  no  skill ;  "«^ 

And  the  unknown  letters  stood  llealUif 

Untold  and  awful  still.  y 

And  Babel's  men  of  age 

Are  wise  and  deep  in  lore; 
But  now  they  were  not  sage, 

They  saw — but  knew  no  more. 

A  captive  in  the  land, 

A  stranger  and  a  youth, 
He  heard  the  king's  command. 

He  saw  that  writing's  truth. 
The  lamps  around  were  bright, 

The  prophecy  in  view; 
He  read  it  on  that  night — 

The  mon'ow  proved  it  true. 

*'  Belshazzar's  grave  is  made, 

His  kingdom  pass'd  away, 
He,  in  the  balance  weigh'd. 

Is  light  and  worthless  claj ; 
The  shroud  his  robe  of  state, 

His  canopy  the  stone ; 
The  Mcdo  is  at  his  gate! 

The  Persian  on  his  throne !  " 

Geokge  Gordon,  Lord  Byiion. 

r 

1*01] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Romance  Solomon  and  the  Bees 

and 
Bsality    When  Solomon  was  reigning  in  his  glory, 

^  Unto  his  throne  the  Queen  of  Sheba  came — 

(So  in  the  Talmud  you  may  read  the  story) — 

Drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  monarch's  fame, 

To  see  the  splendors  of  his  court,  and  bring 

Some  fitting  tribute  to  the  mighty  King. 

Nor  this  alone :  much  had  her  highness  heard 
What   flowers   of   learning   graced   the  royal 
speech ; 

What  gems  of  wisdom  dropped  with  every  word ; 
What  wholesome  lessons  he  was  wont  to  teach 

In  pleasing  proverbs ;  and  she  wished,  in  sooth, 

To  know  if  Rumor  spoke  the  simple  truth. 

Besides,  the  Queen  had  heard  (which  piqued  her 
most) 

How  through  the  deepest  riddles  he  could  spy ; 
How  all  the  curious  arts  that  women  boast 

Were  quite  transparent  to  his  piercing  eye ; 
And  so  the  Queen  had  come — a  royal  guest — 
To  put  the  sage's  cunning  to  the  test.  * 

And  straight  she  held  before  the  monarch's  view, 

In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath  of  flowers ; 
Tlie  one  bedecked  with  every  charming  hue, 
Was    newly    culled    from    Nature's    choicest 
bowers ; 

[5021 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  other,  no  less  fair  in  every  part,  Romance 

Was  the  rare  product  of  divinest  Art.  '""^ 


"Which  is  the  true,  and  which  the  false?"  she 
said. 

Great  Solomon  was  silent.     All  amazed, 
Each  wondering  courtier  shook  his  puzzled  head  ; 

While  at  the  garlands  long  the  monarch  gazed, 
As  one  who  sees  a  miracle,  and  fain 
For  very  rapture,  ne'er  would  speak  again. 

"Which   is   the   true.''"    once  more   the  woman 
asked. 
Pleased  at  the  fond  amazement  of  the  King; 
"  So  wise  a  head  should  not  be  hardly  tasked, 
Mosi;    learned     Liege,     with     such    a   trivial 
thing !  " 
But  still  the  sage  was  silent ;  it  was  plain 
A  deepening  doubt  perplexed  the  royal  brain. 

While  thus  he  pondered,  presently  he  sees. 
Hard  b}'  the  casement — so  the  story  goes — 

A  little  band  of  busy  bustling  bees, 
Hunting  for  honey  In  a  withered  rose. 

The  monarch  smiled,  and  raised  his  royal  head ; 

"  Open  the  window !  " — that  was  all  he  said. 

The  window  opened  at  the  King's  command : 
Within  the  rooms  the  eager  insects  flew. 

And  sought  the  flowers  In  Sheba's  dexter  hand ! 
And  so  the  King  and  all  the  courtiers  knew 

[503] 


licalilif 

r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Hommice  That  wreath  was  Nature's ;  and  the  baffled  Queen 

and       Returned  to  tell  the  wonders  she  had  seen. 
Reality 

^       ]\Iy  story  teaches  (every  tale  should  bear 

A  fitting  moral)  that  the  wise  may  find 
In  trifles  light  as  atoms  of  the  air 

Some  useful  lesson  to  enrich  the  mind — 
Some  truth  designed  to  profit  or  to  please — 
As  Israel's  King  learned  wisdom  from  the  bees. 

John  G.  Saxe. 


The  Burial  of  Moses 

•'  And  He  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab. 
OTer  against  Beth-peor  :  but  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sepul- 
chre  unto  this  day." — Deut.  xxxiv.  6. 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  w^ave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave. 
And  no  man  knows   that  sepulchre, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er, 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturn'd  the  sod, 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampliugt 

Or  saw  th§  train  go  forth-— 

£504] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Noiselessly  as  the  daylight  Romance 

Comes  back  when  night  is  done,  ""d 

And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek  neahtjf 

Grows  into  the  great  sun ;  tr 

Noiselessly  as  the  spring-time 

Her  crown   of  verdure  weaves, 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills, 

Open  their  thousand  leaves; 
So  without  sound  of  music, 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept. 
Silently  down  from  the  mountain's  crown, 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle. 

On  grey  Beth-peor's  height. 
Out  of  his  lonely  eyrie 

Look'd  on  the  wondrous  sight; 
Perchance  the  lion  stalking. 

Still  shuns  that  hallow'd  spot, 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth. 

His  comrades  in  the  war. 
With  arms  reversed  and  muffled  drum. 

Follow  his  funeral  car; 
They  show  the  banners  taken, 

They  tell  his  battles  won, 

[505] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Romance  And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed 
(ma  While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

We  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honour'd  place 

With  costly  marble  drest, 
In   the  great  minster  transept 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall 
(And  the  organ  rings,  and  the  sweet  choir  sings) 

Alono'  the  emblazon'd  wall. 


^tt 


This  was  the  truest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword; 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word. 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  his  golden  pen 
On  the  deathless  page  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 

And  had  he  not  high  honour, 

The  hill-side  for  a  pall, 
To  lie  in  state,  while  angels  wait 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall, 
And  the  dark  rock-pines,  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave. 
And  God's  own  hand  in  that  lonely  land 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave. 

[506] 


GOLDEN   NmiBERS 

In  that  strange  grave  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncoffin'd  clay 
Shall  break  again,  O  wondrous  thought! 

Before  the  Judgment  Day, 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapt  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife,  that  won  our  life, 

With  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God. 


liomatux 

and 
Realitt 


O  lonely  grave  in  Moab's  land ! 

O  dark  Beth-peor's  hill! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours» 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  his  mysteries  of  grace. 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell. 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  hidden  sleep 

Of  him  he  loved  so  well. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexandib. 


l«ini 


INTERLEAVES 

r 

When  Banners  Are  Waving 

Here  are  poems  of  Valor,  Fortitude,  Fearlessness,  Courage^ 
Give  yourself  up  to  the  martial  swing  of  the  verse,  icith 
its  clang  of  armor,  its  champing  of  war-steed,  its  sound 
of  pibroch,  its  blare  of  trumpet,  fife,  and  drum,  its  danc- 
ing of  plumes  and  glitter  of  helmets.  Pray  Heaven 
that  the  fighting  be  all  in  a  good  cause  and  that  the 
tramp,  tramp  of  soldierly  feet  be  that  of  the  armies  of 
Right,  for  there  is  no  resisting  thi'S  spirit  of  daring  and 
bearing  when  it  is  voiced  so  nobly. 

"  When  cannon  are  roaring. 
And  hot  bullets  flying. 
He  that  would  honor  win 
Must  not  fear  dying." 

Here  are  hymns  in  praise  of  famous  battles  that  have 
changed  the  fate  of  nations;  here,  records  of  gallant 
deeds  that  make  the  blood  leap  in  tJw  veins.  Into  the 
Valley  of  Death  rode  the  immortal  Six  Hundred,  and 
into  that  same  Valley  plunged  "  furious  Frank  and  fiery 
Hun,"  Scot,  Turk,  Greek,  and  the  brave  Huguenot 
charging  at  Ivry  for  the  Golden  Lilies  of  France. 
Here  are  the  songs  of  triumph,  the  loud  hurrahs  when 
the  red  field  is  won;  here  tales  of  glorious  defeats  and 
no  less  splendid  failures;  here,  too,  the  dirge  for  the 
storied  Brave,  who  lie  at  rest  by  all  their  Country's 
wishes  blest. 

The  banners  that  once  beckoned  on  the  armed  hosts  are 
hanging  to-day  in  dim  cathedrals,  tattered,  faded,  and 
torn;  higli-hmig  banners  that  with  every  "  opened  door 
seem  the  old  wave  of  battle  to  remember."  And  as  for 
the  heroes  who  carried  them,  can  we  not  say,  as  of  Marca 
Bo^zarls, 

*'  For  ye  are  Freedorv^i  now,  and  Fame's^ 
Among  the  few,  tK  immortal  namet 
That  were  not  bom  to  die" 


I 


XIV 
WHEN  BANNERS  AKE  WAVING 


When  Banners  Are  Waving 

Vf  HEN  banners  are  waving, 

And  lances  a-pushing; 
When  captains  are  shouting, 

And  war-horses  rushing; 
When  cannon  are  roaring, 

And  hot  bullets  flying, 
He  that  would  honour  win, 

Must  not  fear  dying. 

Though  shafts  fly  so  thick 

That  it  seems  to  be  snowing; 
Thoush  streamlets  with  blood 

More  than  water  are  flowing; 
Though  with  sabre  and  bullet 

Our  bravest  are  dying, 
We  speak  of  revenge,  but 

We  ne'er  speak  of  flying. 

Come,  stand  to  it,  heroes! 
The  heathen  are  coming; 
1509  1 


When 
Banners 

are 
Waving 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Horsemen  are  round  the  walls, 

Riding  and  /vanning; 
Maidens  and  matrons  all 

Arm!  arm!  are  crying, 
firom  petards  the  wildfire's 

Flashing  and  flying. 

The  trumpets  from  turrets  high 

liOudly  are  braying; 
The  steeds  for  the  onset 

Are  snorting  and  neighing; 
As  waves  in  the  ocean, 

The  dark  plumes  are  dancing; 
As  stars  in  the  blue  sky, 

The  helmets  are  glancing. 

Their  ladders  are  planting, 

Their  sabres  are  sweeping; 
Now  swords  from  our  sheaths 

By  the  thousand  are  leaping ; 
lake  the  flash  of  the  levin 

Ere  men  hearken  thunder. 
Swords  gleam,  and  the  steel  caps 

Are  cloven  asunder. 


The  shouting  has  ceased. 
And  the  flashing  of  cannon! 

I  looked  from  the  turret 
For  crescent  and  pennon: 

[510] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

As  flax  touched  by  fire,  JVhcn 

As  hail  in  the  river,  Banners 

They  were  smote,  they  were  fallen,  t/*^^ 
And  had  melted  for  ever. 


Unknown. 


r 


Battle  of  the  Baltic 

Of  Nelson  and  the  north 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown. 
When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown. 
And  her  arms   along  the  deep  proudly  shone; 

By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand 

In  a  bold,  determined  hand, 

And  the  prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. 

Like  leviathans  afloat 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine; 
While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line — 
It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime. 

As  they  drifted  on  their  path 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 
For  a  time. 

[511] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

When    But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

banners       q^Q  anticipate  the  scene ; 

ore 
Wavins  "^^^  ^*^^  ^^"  *^®  fleeter  rushed 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 
"  Hearts  of  oak !  "  our  captain  cried ;  when  each 
gun 
From  its  adamantine  lips 
Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships. 
Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 
Of  the  sun. 

Again  !   again !   again ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 
Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back; 
Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom — 

Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail, 

Or  in  conflagration  pale, 
Light  the  gloom. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then. 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave: 

**  Ye  are  brothers !  ye  are  men ! 
And  we  conquer  but  to  save; 

So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring; 
But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet, 
With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet. 
And  make  submission  meet 

To  our  king." 

[5131  \ 


Heaving 


GOLDEN   NmiBERS 

Then  Denmark  blessed  our  chief,  jy/i(.„ 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose;  Banners 

And  the  sounds  of  jo^'^  and  grief 

From  her  people  wildly  rose, 
As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  dav.  ▼ 

While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 

O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 

Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise! 

For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 

Whilst  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light; 
And  yet,  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 

Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 

Full  many  a  fathom  deep. 

By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! 

Brave  hearts !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 
On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died, 

With  the  gallant,  good  Riou — 
Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their  grave! 

Wliile  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles, 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  the  brave! 

Thomas  Campbeli.. 

C513] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


When  The  Pipes  at  Lucknozv 

Banners 

are  Pipes  of  the  misty  moorlands, 

Waving  Voice  of  the  glens  and  hills ; 

The  droning  of  the  torrents, 

The  treble  of  the  rills ! 
Not  the  braes  of  broom  and  heatherj 

Nor  the  mountains  dark  with  rain, 
Nor  maiden  bower,  nor  border  tower, 

Have  heard  your  sweetest  strain! 

Dear  to  the  Lowland  reaper. 

And  plaided  mountaineer, — 
To  the  cottage  and  the  castle 

The  Scottish  pipes  are  dear; — 
Sweet  sounds  the  ancient  pibroch 

O'er  mountain,  loch,  and  glade; 
But  the  sweetest  of  all  music 

The  pipes  at  Lucknow  played. 

Day  by  day  the  Indian  tiger 

Louder  yelled,  and  nearer  crept; 
Round  and  round,  the  jungle-serpent 

Near  and  nearer  circles  swept. 
"  Pray  for  rescue,  wives  and  mothers, — 

Pray  to-day !  "  the  soldier  said, 
"  To-morrow,  death's  between  us 

And  the  wrong  and  shame  we  dread." 
[6U] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Oh^  they  listened,  looked,  and  waited,  When 

Till  their  hope  became  despair ;  Bmwers 

And  the  sobs  of  low  bewailing  j/r'^'^- 

fVavtng 

Filled  the  pauses  of  their  prayer. 
Then  up  spake  a  Scottish  maiden, 

With  her  ear  unto  the  ground : 
"  Dinna  ye  hear  it? — dinna  ye  hear  it? 

The  pipes  o'  Havelock  sound ! " 

Hushed  the  wounded  man  his  groaning; 

Hushed  the  wife  her  little  ones; 
Alone  they  heard  the  drum-roll 

And  the  roar  of  Sepoy  guns. 
But  to  sounds  of  home  and  childhood 

The  Highland  ear  was  true; — 
As  her  mother's  cradle  crooning 

The  mountain  pipes  she  knew. 

Like  the  march  of  soundless  music 

Through  the  vision  of  the  seer, 
More  of  feeling  than  of  hearing. 

Of  the  heart  than  of  the  ear. 
She  knew  the  droning  pibroch. 

She  knew  the  Campbell's  call: 
"  Hark !  hear  ye  no'  MacGregor's, 

The  grandest  o'  them  all !  " 

O,  they  listened,  dumb  and  breathless. 
And  they  caught  the  sound  at  last; 
[515] 


? 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When         Faint  and  far  beyond  the  Goomtee 
Banners  Roge  and  fell  the  piper's  blast ! 

Waving       Then  a  burst  of  wild  thanksgiving 

Mingled  woman's  voice  and  man's; 
"  God  be  praised ! — the  march  of  Havelock ! 
The  piping  of  the  clans !  " 

Louder,  nearer,  fierce  as  vengeance, 

Sharp  and  shrill  as  swords  at  strife^ 
Came  the  wild  MacGregor's  clan-call, 

Stinging  all  the  air  to  life. 
But  when  the  far-off  dust  cloud 

To  plaided  legions  grew. 
Full  tenderly  and  blithesomely 

The  pipes  of  rescue  blew! 

Round  the  silver  domes  of  Lucknow, 

Moslem  mosque  and  Pagan  shrine. 
Breathed  the  air  to  Britons  dearest, 

The  air  of  Auld  Lang  Syne. 
O'er  the  cruel  roll  of  war  drums 

Rose  that  sweet  and  homelike  strain; 
And  the  tartan  clove  the  turban 

As  the  Goomtee  cleaves  the  plain. 

Dear  to  the  corn-land  reaper 
And  plaided  mountaineer, — 

To  the  cottage  and  the  castle 
The  piper's  song  is  dear, 
1516] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Sweet  sounds  the  Gaelic  pibroch  fVh^ 

O'er  mountain,  glen,  and  glade ;  Jiuimen 

But  the  sweetest  of  all  music  '^'"^ 

The  pipes  at  Lucknow  played!  """^ 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier.  • 

r 

The  Battle  of  Agincourt 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France, 
When  we  our  sails  advance. 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 

Longer  will  tarry; 
But  putting  to  the  main, 
At  Caux,  the  mouth  of  Seine, 
With  all  his  martial  train, 

Landed  King  Harry. 

And  taking  many  a  fort, 

Furnished  in  warlike  sort,  & 

Marched  towards  Agincourt 

In  happy  hour — 
Skirmishing  day  by  day 
With  those  that  stopped  his  way, 
Where  the  French  general  lay 

With  all  his  power. 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride, 
King  Henry  to  deride, 
His  ransom  to  provide 
To  the  king  sending. 
[  517  ] 


When 
Banners 

are 
Waving 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile 
Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  men, 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  then, 
*'  Though  they  be  one  to  ten, 

Be  not  amazed; 
Yet  have  we  well  begun, 
Battles  so  bravely  won 
Have  ever  to  the  sun 

By  fame  been  raised. 

"  And  for  myself,"  quoth  he, 
"  This  my  full  rest  shall  be, 
England  ne'er  mourn  for  me. 

Nor  more  esteem  me. 
Victor  I  will  remain, 
Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain. 
Never  shall  she  sustain 

Loss  to  redeem  me." 


Poitiers  and  Cressy  tell, 

When  most  their  pride  did  swell. 

Under  our  swords  they  fell ; 

No  less  our  skill  is 
Than  Avhen  our  grandsire  great. 
Claiming  the  regal   seat, 
[518] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

By  many  a  warlike  feat  n/,en 

Lopped  the  Frencli  lilies.  Uanucrt 

are 

The  Duke  of  York  so  dread  ^'"'"'^ 

The  eager  vaward  led;  ^ 

With  the  main  Henry  sped, 

Amongst  his  henchmen. 
Excester  had  the  rear — 
A  braver  man  not  there: 
O  Lord !  how  hot  they  were 

On  the  false  Frenchmen! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone; 
Armor  on   armor  shone; 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groan — 

To  hear  was  wonder; 
That  with  the  cries  they  make 
The  very  earth  did  shake ; 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake, 

Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became, 
O  noble  Erpingham! 
Which  did  the  signal  aim 

To  our  hid  forces; 
When,  from  a  meadow  by, 
Like    a  storm   suddenly, 
The  English  archery 

Struck  the  French  horseSj 
[519] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When  With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 

aannerf  Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long, 

Waving  '^^^^  ^^^^  *°  serpents  stung, 

Piercing  the  weather; 
None  from  his  fellow  starts, 
But  playing  manly  parts. 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 
Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  bilboes  drew, 
And  on  the  French  they  flew, 

Not  one  was  tardy; 
Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent. 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent, 
Down  the  French  peasants  Avent, 

Our  men  were  hardy. 

This  while  our  noble  King, 
His  broad  sword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding, 

As  to  o'erwhelm  it; 
And  many  a  deep  wound  lent. 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent, 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 

Bruised  his  helmet. 

Gloucester,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood, 
[•5201 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  famous  England  stood,  JVhn> 

With  his  brave  brother,  Banners 

Clarence,  in  steel  so  bright,  „"''^. 

Though  but  a  maiden  knight,  ^ 

Yet  in  that  furious  fight  ▼ 
Scarce  such  another. 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade; 
Oxford  the  foe  invade, 
And  cruel  slaughter  made. 

Still  as  they  ran  up. 
Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply; 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby 
Bare  them  right  doughtily, 

Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  Day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray, 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 

To  England  to  caiTy ; 
Oh,  when  shall  Englishmen 
With  such  acts  fill  a  pen. 
Or  England  breed  again  " 

Such  a  King  Harry? 

Michael   Draytok. 


t«u 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When  The  Battle  of  Blenheim 

Banners 
are  It  was  a  summer's  evening, 

Waving  Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 

(S'  And  he  before  his  cottage  door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun ; 

And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 

His  little  grandchild  Wilhclmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 

Roll  something  large  and  round, 

Which  he,  beside  the  rivulet. 
In  playing  there,  had  found. 

He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found. 

That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy. 

Who  stood  expectant  by ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 

And,  with  a  natural  sigh, 
"  'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 
"  Who  fell  in  the  great  victory !  " 

"  I  find  them  in  the  garden, 
For  there's  many  here  about ; 

And  often  when  I  go  to  plough. 
The  ploughshare  turns  them  out; 

For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 

"  Were  slain  in  that  great  victory !  " 

[5!i?2] 


are 
ifig 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about,"  When 

Young  Peterkin  he  cries;  Bunncrt 

And  little  VVilhelmine  looks  up  m/"^ 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes ; 

"  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war, 

And  what  they  kill  each  other  for." 

"  It  was  the  English,"  Kaspar  cried, 

Who  put  the  French  to  rout ; 
But  what  they  killed  each  other  for 

I  could  not  well  make  out. 
But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 
"  That  'twas  a  famous  victory ! 

"  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then, 

Yon  little  stream  hard  by : 
They  burned  his  dwelling  to  the  ground. 

And  he  was  forced  to  fly ; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled. 
Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

"  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide ; 
And  many  a  childing  mother  then 

And  new-born  baby  died. 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 
After  the  field  was  won ; 
f  523) 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


When         For  many  thousand  bodies  here 
Banners  L^y  rotting  in  the  sun. 

Waving       ^^^  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 


r 


"  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  won, 
And  our  good  Prince  Eugene.'* 

*'  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing !  " 
Said  little  Wilhelmine. 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  little  girl,"  quoth  he, 

**  It  was  a  famous  victory ! 

'*  And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 
Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 

"But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last.?" 
Quoth  little  Peterkin. 

"  Why  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he, 

*'  But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 

Robert  Southey. 

r 

The  Armada:    A  Fragment 

Attend,  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our  noble  England's 

praise ; 
I  sing  of  the  thrice  famous  deeds  she  wrought  in 

ancient  days. 
When  that  great  fleet  invincible  against  her  bore, 

in  vain 
The  richest  spoils  of  Mexico,  the  stoutest  hearts 

in  Spain. 

r  524  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

It  was  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm  summer's     fVhen 

day,  Batmen 

There  came  a  gallant  merchant-ship  full  sail  to      "'"^ 

Plymouth  Bay;  ^^'"'^'^ 

The  crew  had  seen  Castile's  black  fleet,  beyond       ' 

Aurigny's  isle, 
At  earliest  twilight,  on  the  waves  lie  heaving 

many  a  mile. 
At  sunrise  she  escaped  their  van,  by  God's  especial 

grace ; 
And  the  tall  Pinta,  till  the  noon,  had  held  her 

close  in  chase. 
Forthwith  a  guard  at  every  gun  was  placed  along 

the  wall; 
The   beacon    blazed   upon  the   roof   of   Edge- 

cumbe's  lofty  hall; 
Many  a  light  fishing-bark  put  out  to  pry  along 

the  coast; 
And  with  loose  rein  and  bloody  spur  rode  inland 

many  a  post. 

With  his  white  hair  unbonneted,  the  stout  old 

sheriff  comes; 
Behind  him  march  the  halberdiers;  before  him 

sound  the  dinims: 
The  yeoman  round  the  market  cross  make  clear 

an  ample  space; 
For  there  behooves  him  to  set  up  the  standard  of 

Her  Grace: 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

When    And   haughtily   the   trumpets   peal,    and    gaily 
Banners  (i^nce  the  bells, 

xy    •      As  slow  upon  the  laboring  wind  the  royal  blazon 
to,  swells. 

Look  how  the  Lion  of  the  sea  lifts  up  his  ancient 

crown, 
And  underneath  his  deadly  paw  treads  the  gay 

lilies   down. 
So  stalked  he  when  he  turned  to  flight,  on  that 

famed  Picard  field, 
Bohemia's  plume,  and  Genoa's  bow,  and  Caesar's 

eagle  shield. 
So  glared  he  when  at  Agincourt  in  wrath  he 

turned  to  bay, 
And    crushed    and   torn   beneath   his   claws  the 

princely  hunters  lay. 
Ho!  strike  the  flagstaff  deep,  Sir  Knight:  ho! 

scatter  flowers,  fair  maids: 
Ho !   gunners,  fire  a  loud  salute :  ho !  gallants, 

draw  your  blades : 
Thou  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously ;  ye  breezes,  waft 

her  wide ; 
Our  glorious  Semper  Eadem,  the  banner  of  our 

pride. 

The  freshening  breeze  of  eve  unfurled  that  ban- 
ner's massy  fold ; 

The    parting    gleam    of    sunshine    kissed    that 
haughty  scroll  of  gold ; 
[  -m  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Night  sank  upon  the  duskj  beach,  and  on  the     H'/,en 
purple  sea,  Banners 

Such  night  in  England  ne'er  had  been,  nor  e'er    ,,."'^*^ 
again  shall  be.  '^ 

From  Eddjstone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Ljnn       * 
to  Milford  Bay, 

That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as 
the  day; 

For  swift  to  east  and  swift  to  west  the  ghastly 
war-flame  spread. 

High  on  St.  Michael's  Mount  it  shone:  it  shone 
on  Beachy  Head. 

Far  o'er  the  deep  the  Spaniard  saw,  along  each 
southern  shire, 

Cape  beyond  cape,  in  endless  range  those  twin- 
kling points  of  fire. 

The  fisher  left  his  skiff  to  rock  on  Tamar's  glit- 
tering waves: 

The  rugged  miners  poured  to  war  from  Mendip's 
sunless  caves : 

O'er  Longleat's  towers,  o'er  Cranbourne's  oaks, 
the  fiery  herald  flew: 

He    roused   the   shepherds    of    Stonehenge,    the 
rangers  of  Beaulieu. 

Right  sharp  and  quick  the  bells  all  night  rang 
out  from  Bristol  town. 

And  ere  the  day  three  hundred  horse  had  met  on 
Clifton  Down ; 

[527] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

IVhen    The  sentinel  on  Whitehall  gate  looked  forth  Into 
Banners  ^he  night, 

Wavins  "^"^  ^^^'  o'^i^hanging  Richmond  Hill,  that  streak 
^  of  blood-red  light: 

Then  bugle's  note  and  cannon's  roar  the  death- 
like silence  broke, 

And  with  one  start,  and  with  one  cry,  the  royal 
city  woke. 

At  once  on  a'   her  stately  gates  arose  the  answer- 
ing fire  J ; 

At  once  the  wild  alarum  clashed  from  all  her  reel- 
ing spires ; 

From  all  the  batteries  of  the  Tower  pealed  loud 
the  voice  of  fear; 

And  all  the  thousand  masts  of  Thames  sent  back 
a  louder  cheer: 

And  from  the  furthest  wards  was  heard  the  rush 
of  hurrying  feet. 

And  the  broad  streams  of  pikes  and  flags  rushed 
down  each  roaring  street; 

And  broader  still  became  the  blaze,  and  louder 
still  the  din. 

As  fast  from  every  village  round  the  horse  came 
spurring  In ; 

And  eastward  straight  from  wild  Blackheath  the 
warlike  errand  went. 

And  roused  In  many  an  ancient  hall  the  gallant 
squires  of  Kent: 

[328] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Southward  from  Surrey's  pleasant  hills  flew  those     n'hen 
bright  couriers  forth;  Baimen 

High  on  bleak  Ilampstead's  swarthy  moor  they    ,,/"^': 
started  for  the  north ;  "° 

And  on,  and  on,  without  a  pause,  untired  they        ' 
bounded  still ; 

All  night  from  tower  to  tower  they  sprang ;  they 
sprang  from  hill  to  hill; 

Till  the  proud  Peak  unfurled  the  flag  o'er  Dar- 
win's rocky  dales ; 

Till  like  volcanoes  flared  to  heaven  the  stormy 
hills  of  Wales; 

Till  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze  on  Mal- 
vern's lonely  height ; 

Till  streamed  in  crimson  on  the  wind  the  Wrekin's 
crest  of  light; 

Till  broad  and  fierce  the  star  came  forth,  on  Ely's 
stately  fane, 

And  tower  and  hamlet  rose  in  arms  o'er  all  the 
boundless  plain ; 

Till  Belvoir's  lordly  terraces  the  sign  to  Lincoln 
sent, 

And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on  o'er  the  wide 
vale  of  Trent: 

Till    Skiddaw    saw    the    fire    that    burned    on 
Gaunt's  embattled  pile, 

And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused  the  burgh- 
ers of  Carlisle. 

Thomas  Babington,  Lord  Macaulay. 
[529] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

When  Ivry 

Banners 

ttre  A  Song  of  the  Huguenots. 

Waving 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  hosts,  from  whom  all 

glories  are! 

And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry 
of  Navarre ! 

Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and 
of  dance. 

Through  thy  corn-fields  green,  and  sunny  vines, 
oh  pleasant  land  of  France ! 

And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city 
of  the  waters, 

Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourn- 
ing daughters. 

As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  j  oyous  in  our 

joy, 

For  cold,  and  stiff,  and  still  are  they  who  wrought 
thy  »ralls  annoy. 

Hurrah !  Hurrah !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the 
chance  of  war. 

Hurrah !  Hurrah !  for  Ivr}^,  and  Henry  of  Na- 
varre. 

Oh !  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when  at  the 

dawn  of  day 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in 

long  array; 

[530] 


are 
'ufiitg 


GOLDF.N    NUAIIJERS 

With  aJl  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  iis  rebel     H'fien 
peers,  Banners 

And  Appenzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egniont's    ,, 

Flemish  spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  tlie  curses       ^ 

of  our  land; 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a  truncheon 

in  his  hand : 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's 

empurpled  flood, 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  with 

his  blood ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the 

fate  of  war, 
To  fight  for  His  own  holy  name,  and  Henry  of 

Navarre. 

The  King  is  come  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor 

drest ; 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his 

gallant  crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his 

eye; 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was 

stern  and  high. 
Right  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from 

wing  to  wing, 
Down  all  our  line,  a  deafening  shout,  "  God  save 

our  Lord  the  King !  " 
1531? 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When    "  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  as  fall  full 
Banners  ^gjj  j^g  j^^y — 

(IT€ 

Waving  For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody 
fray — 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,  amidst 

the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Na- 
varre." 

Hurrah !  the  foes  are  moving.    Hark  to  the  min- 
gled din 

Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum,  and 
roaring  culverin. 

The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  An- 
dre's plain. 

With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and 
Almayne. 

Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen 
of   France, 

Charge  for  the  Golden  Lilies — upon  them  with 
the  lance! 

A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand 
spears  in  rest, 

A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  tht 
snow-white  crest; 

And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like 
a  guiding  star. 

Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of 
Navarre. 

[532] 


GOLDEN    NUIVIBERS 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours !  Mayenne     When 
hath  turned  his   rein ;  Bannera 

D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter;  the  Flemish    ,//"'■ 

„        ,    .       ,    .  nanng 

Count  is  slain ; 

Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before       * 

a  Biscay  gale; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags, 

and  cloven  mail. 
And  then,  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and,  all 

along  our  van, 
"  Remember  St.  Bartholomew !  "  was  passed  from 

man  to  man ; 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry — "  No  Frenchman 

is  my  foe : 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner,  but  let  your 

brethren  go." 
Oh!  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship 

or  in  war. 
As  our  Sovereign  Lord  King  Henry,  the  soldier 

of  Navarre! 

Right  well  fought  all  the  Frenchmen  who  fought 

for  France  to-day ; 
And  many  a  lordl^^  banner  God  gave  them  for  a 

prey. 
But  we  of  the  religion  have  borne  us  best  in 

fight ; 
\nd  the  good  lord  of  Rosny  hath  ta'cn  the  corned 

white — 

[533] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Ulien    Our  own  true  Maximilian  the  cornet  white  hath 
Banners  ^a'en, 

Wavins^  The  cornet  white  with  crosses  black,  the  flag  of 
to.  false  Lorraine. 

'        Up  with  it  high ;  unfurl  it  wide — that  all  the  host 
may  know 
How  God  hath  humbled  the  proud  house  which 

wrought  His  Church  such  woe. 
Then  on  the  ground,  while  trumpets  sound  their 

loudest  point  of  war. 
Fling  the  red  shreds,  a  footcloth  meet  for  Henr^ 
of  Navarre. 

Ho !   maidens   of  Vienna ;   ho !  matrons  of  Lu- 
cerne, 

Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who 
never  shall  return. 

Ho !  Philip,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican  pis- 
toles, 

That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy 
poor  spearmen's  souls. 

Ho !  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your 
arms  be  bright; 

Ho!  burghers  of   Saint  Genevieve,  keep  watch 
and  ward  to-night; 

For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God 
hath  raised  the  slave, 

And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise,  and  the  valor 
of  the  brave. 

[  534  ] 


GOLDEN    NajVIBERS 

Then   glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all     IVhen 
glories  are ;  Baimeri 

And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Lord,  King  Henry    «/   ,• 


of  Navarre! 

Thomas  Babington,  Lord  Macaulay. 


r 

On  the  Loss  of  the  Royal  George 
Written  when  the  News  Arrived,  September,  1789. 

Toll  for  the  brave! 

The  brave  that  are  no  more! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 

Fast  by  their  native  shore! 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave, 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried. 

Had  made  the  vessel  heel. 
And  laid  her  on  her  side. 

A  land  breeze  shook  the  shrouds. 

And  she  was  overset; 
Down  went  the  Royal  Georgd, 

With  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave ! 

Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone; 
His  last  sea-fight  is  fought; 

His  work  of  glory  done. 
I  .iv5  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When  It  was  not  in  the  battle; 

Banners  jsJq  tempest  gave  the  shock ; 

Waving  ^^^  sprang  no  fatal  leak ; 


r 


She  ran  upon  no  rock. 

His  sword  was  in  its  sheath; 

His  fingers  held  the  pen, 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down, 

With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Weigh  the  vessel  up, 

Once  dreaded  by  our  foes! 

And  mingle  with  our  cup 
The  tear  that  England  owes. 


*&' 


Her  timbers  yet  are  sound, 

And  she  may  float  again. 
Full  charged  with  England's  thunder. 

And  plough  the  distant  main. 

But  Kempenfelt  Is  gone. 

His  victories  are  o'er. 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred 

Must  plough  the  waves  no  more. 

William  Cowper, 

r 


1536] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  ,"'^''" 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league,  «'"« 

Half  a  league  onward,  Waving 

All  in  the  valley  of  Death,  jf 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
"  Charge  for  the  guns!  "  he  said: 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"Forward,   the  Light  Brigade!" 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Not  though  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered; 
Tlieirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die ; — • 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well; 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
tfito  the  mouth  of  Hell 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
[537] 


When 
Banners 

are 
Waving 

r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air. 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered: 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke. 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke: 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  sabre-stroke 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not — 

Not  the  six  hundred. 


Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered. 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
Those  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  through  the  jaAvs  of  Deathj 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of   six   liundred. 


When  can  their  glory  fade.'' 
Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made! 
All  the  world  wondered. 
[338] 


GOLDEN    NU:\IBERS 

Honor  tlie  cliargc  they  made!  Jl'/ini 

Honor   the  Light  Brigade!  lionucn 

Noble  six  hundred  !  "''': 

Waving 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


r 


Bannockhurn 
Robert  Bruce's  Address  to  his  Array. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led, 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed 
Or  to  victorie! 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower; 
See  approach   proud  Edward's  power- 
Chains  and  slaverie! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 

Let  him.  turn  and  flee ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw. 
Freeman  stand,  or  freeman  fa% 
Let  him  follow  me! 
[o39  I 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

JVhen  By  oppression's  woes  and  pains! 

Banners  j^y  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 

We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall  be  free? 


are 
Waving 


€ 


Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow! — 

Let  us  do  or  die! 

Robert  Burns. 


The  Night  Before   Waterloo 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gather'd  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry,  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men ; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily ;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  look'd  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again. 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell ; 
But  hush !  hark !  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising 
knell ! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it? — No;  'twas  but  the  wind, 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 
On  with  the  dance !  let  j  oy  be  unconfined ; 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 

[  .540  J 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

To  clmse  the  glowing  Hours  with  flying  feet.         JVfifn 

But  hark !  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more,  '-^"/""'•'•* 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat;  „/"*' 

^  Vavinn 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before! 
Arm  !  arm  !   it  is — it   is — the  cannon's  opening 
roar ! 

•  •  •  •  ♦ 

Ah !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blush'd  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness; 
And  there  w^ere  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking 

sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated :  who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could 

rise! 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste :  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 
And  tlie  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alanning  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; 
While  throng'd  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips — "  The  foe! 
They  come !  they  come !  " 
[541] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

When    Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 
Banners  Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 
rj^  ,•       The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
^       The  mom  the  marshalling  in  arms — the  day 
•         Battle's  magnificently  stern  array ! 

The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent 
The  earth  is  cover'd  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heap'd  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse — friend,  foe, — in  one  red  burial 
blent ! 

George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron. 
From  "  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage." 

r 

HoJienlinden 

On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low. 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden   snow. 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight 
When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array'd 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade. 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd. 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven.  When 

Then  rush'd  the  steed  to  battle  driven,  '^^"J^* 

And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  hea\'cn  Watnng 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artillery.  Se 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow, 
And  darker  yet  shall  be  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn,  but  scarce  yon  lurid  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  Brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave! 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  I 

Few,  few,  shall  part  where  many  meet! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


[543] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When  Incident  of  the  French  Camp 

Banners 
are       You  know  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon: 

Waving       ^  vaWe  or  so  away, 

On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming  day; 
With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how. 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind. 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused,  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

Waver   at  yonder  wall," — 
Out  'twixt  the  battery-smokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-galloping;  nor  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy, 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy: 

You  hardly  could  suspect — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed. 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through,) 
You  looked  twice  e'er  you  saw  his  breast. 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 

[  .'544  '■ 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

**  Well,"  cried  he,  "  Emperor,  by  God's  grace         When 

We've  got  you  Ratisbon  !  lianner* 

The  marshal's  in  the  market-place,  "'"^ 

And  you'll  be  there  anon  aw«g 

To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  liis  vans  f 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire, 
Perched  him."    The  chief's  eye  flashed ;  his  plans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 

The  chief's  eye  flashed ;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother  eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes: 
"  You're  wounded !  "    "  Nay,"  his  soldier's  pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said ; 
"  I'm  killed,  sire  !  "     And,  his  chief  beside, 

Smiling,  the  boy  fell  dead. 

Robert  Browning. 

r 

Marco  Bozzaris 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power ; 
In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror; 

In  dreams,  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
[545] 


are 
Waving 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When         T'lien  wore  his  monarch's  signet-ring; 
banners       Then  press'd  that  monarch's  throne — a  king : 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  as  gay  of  wing, 
As  Eden's  garden  bird. 

At  midnight  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  SuHote  band, 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood. 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood, 

On  old  Plataea's  day ; 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquer'd  there, 
With  arm  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far,  as  they. 

An  hour  pass'd  on:  the  Turk  awoke: 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last. 
He  woke  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 
"To  arms  !  they  come !  the  Greek !  the  GreeV  !'* 
He  woke,  to  die  'midst  flame  and  smoke. 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke, 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain  cloud, 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band : 
"  Strike ! — till  the  last  arm'd  foe  expires ; 
Strike ! — for  your  altars  and  your  fires ; 

[546  J 


I 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Strike ! — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ;         When 
God,  and  your  native  land !  "  Bannert 

are 
They  fought  hke  brave  men,  long  and  well ;        Waving 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain ;         ^ 
They  conquer'd ; — but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile  when  rang  their  loud  hurrah, 

And  the  red  field  was  won; 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close, 
Calmly  as  to  a  night's  repose, — 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

•  •  . 

Bozzaris !  wdth  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time. 
Rest  thee :  there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
She  wore  no  funeral  weeds  for  thee. 

Nor  bade  the  dark  hearse  wave  its  plume. 
Like  torn  branch  from  death's  leafless  tree, 
In  sorrow's  pomp  and  pageantry, 

The  heartless  luxury  of  the  tomb; 
But  she  remembers  thee  as  one 

Long  loved,  and  for  a  season  gone; 

For  thee  her  poet's  lyre  is  wreathed; 

Her  marble  ^\rought,  her  music  breathed  J 

For  thee  she  rings  the  birthday  bells  r 

Of  thee  her  babes'  first  lisping  tells ; 

[547^ 


When 

Banners 

are 

Waving 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

For  thee  her  evening  prayer  is  said 
At  palace-couch  and  cottage-bed; 
Her  soldier,  closing  with  the  foe, 
Gives  for  thy  sake  a  deadlier  blow ; 
His  plighted  maiden,  when  she  fears 
For  him,  the  joj  of  her  young  years, 
Thinks  of  thy  fate,  and  checks  her  tears; 

And  she,  the  mother  of  thy  boys. 
Though  in  her  G^ye  and  faded  cheek 
Is  read  the  grief  she  will  not  speak. 

The  memory  of  her  buried  joys, — 
And  even  she  who  gave  thee  birth 
Will,  by  their  pilgrim-circled  hearth, 

Talk  of  thy  doom  without  a  sigh ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's, 
One  of  the  few,  th'  immortal  names 

That  were  not  bom  to  die. 

Fitz-Greene  Halleck. 


The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the 

fold. 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  In  purple  and 

gold; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the 

sea. 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee, 

[5i8] 


i 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Summer  is     JVfien 
green,  lianutrr* 

That   host   with   their   banners   at   sunset   were    ly    • 
seen :  ^ 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Autumn  hath       ' 
blown, 

That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  wither'd  and  strown. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the 

blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  pass'd ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  wax'd  deadly  and 

chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever 

grew  still! 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all  wide, 
But  through  it  there  roll'd  not  the  breath  of  his 

pride ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the 

turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale. 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow,  and  the  rust  on  his 

mail; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone. 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

f  54H  1 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

When    And   the   widows   of   Ashur   are   loud   in   their 
Banners  wail 

rwr    •       And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal! 
Waving  ,  ^ 

^       And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the 
▼  sword, 

Hatli    melted  like   snow    in   the   glance   of   the 
Lordi 

George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron. 


'.'  \ 


INTERLEAVES 

Tales  of  the  Olden  Time 

These  ancient  ballads  have  come  doxrni  to  us  from  the  long 
ago,  having  been  told,  like  the  old  nursery  tales,  from 
generation  to  generation,  alleged,  abbreviated,  patched, 
and  added  to,  as  they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  of 
poet,  high  harper,  gleeman,  wandering  minstrel,  ballad- 
tnongcr,  and  camp-follower.  Some  of  them  were  re- 
peated by  the  humble  stroller  who  paid  for  a  corner  in 
the  chimney-nook  by  the  practice  of  his  rude  art;  others 
were  sung  by  minstrels  of  the  court;  most  of  them  were 
chanted  to  a  tune  which  served  for  a  score  of  similar 
songs,  while  the  verses  were  frequently  interrupted  by 
refrains   of  one   sort   or  another,    as,   for  instance,    in 

I    "  Hynde  Horn,"  which  is  sometimes  printed  as  follows: 

**  Near  the  King's  Court  was  a  young  child  born 
With  a  hey  lillalu  and  a  hoio  lo  Ian  ; 
And  his  name  it  was  called  Young  Hynde  Horn 
^nd  the  birk  and  the  broom  blooms  bo?inie." 

Many  of  the  ballads  are  gloomy  and  tragic  stoi'ies,  but 
told  simply  and  with  right  feeling;  others  are  gay  tales 
of  true  love  ending  happily.  Some,  like  "  Sir  Patrick 
Spens  "  and  "  Chevy  Chace,"  are  built  upon  historical 
foundations,  and  others,  while  not  follozmng  history, 
have  a  real  personage  for  hero  or  heroine.  Lord  Bei- 
chan,  for  instance,  is  supposed  to  be  Gilbert  Becket, 
father  of  the  fatuous  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury, 
while  Glenlogie  is  Sir  George,  one  of  the  "  gay  Gor- 
dons," but  whoever  they  are,  wise  abbots,  jolly  friars, 
or  noble  outlaws,  they  are  always  bold  fellows,  true 
lovers,  and  merry  men. 

Inconsequent,  fascinating,  high-handed,  impossible,  pict' 
uresque,  these  old  ballads  have  come  to  us  from  the 
childhood  of  the  UJ>rld.  and  still  speak  to  the  child" 
heart  in  us  all. 


« 


XV 
TALES   OF  THE   OLDEN   TIME 


Sir  Patrick  Spens 

X  HE  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  town, 

Drinking  the  blude-red  wine; 
**  O  whare  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper, 
To  sail  this  new  ship  o'  mine !  " 

O  up  and  spake  an  eldern  knight, 
Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee, — 

*'  Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor, 
That  ever  sail'd  the  sea." 

The  king  has  written  a  braid  letter, 
And  seal'd  it  with  his  hand, 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 
Was  walking  on  the  strand. 

"  To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 
To  Noroway  o'er  the  f aem ; 

The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 
'Tis  thou  maun  bring  her  haroe." 

[5511 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales     The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 
'oiH"'         Sae  loud,  loud  laughed  he ; 
Time     ^^^^  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 
to.  The  tear  blinded  his  e'e. 

"  O  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

And  tauld  the  king  o'  me, 
To  send  us  out,  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

To  sail  upon  the  sea? 

"  Be  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it  sleet. 

Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem; 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

'Tis  we  must  fetch  her  hame." 

They  ho^^sed  their  sails  on  Monenday  morn, 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may ; 
They  hae  landed  in  Noroway, 

Upon  a  Wodcnsday. 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week, 

In  Noroway,  but  twae. 
When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say, — 

**  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  king's  goud, 

And  a'  our  queenis  fee." 
**  Ye  lee,  ye  lee,  ye  liars  loud ! 

Fu'  loud  I  hear  ye  lee. 

r559] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

"  For  I  brought  as  much  white  monie,  Tales 

As  gane  my  men  and  me,  of  the 

And  I  brought  a  half-fou  o'  gude  red  goud,  y?^" 
Out  o'er  the  sea  wi'  me. 


a 


a 


Mak'  ready,  mak'  ready,  my  merry  men  a'! 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn." 
Now,  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm! 


*'  I  saw  the  new  moon,  late  yestreen, 

Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm ; 
And,  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master, 

I  fear  we'll  come  to  harm." 

They  had  not  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three, 
When  the  lift  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  loud^ 

And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  topmasts  lap, 

It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm ; 
And  the  waves  cam  o'er  the  broken  ship, 

Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

*'  O  where  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor. 

To  tak'  my  helm  in  hand. 

Till  I  get  up  to  the  tall  top-mast. 

To  see  if  I  can  spy  land.'*  " 

[5631 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales     "  O  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude, 
«/■  the         'po  take  the  hehn  in  hand, 
fn-         Til]  you  go  up  to  the  tall  top-mast ; 

But  I  fear  you'll  ne'er  spy  land.*' 


He  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step  but  barely  ane, 
When  a  bout  flew  out  o'  our  goodly  ship. 

And  the  salt  sea  it  came  in. 

"Gae,  fetch  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Anither  o'  the  twine. 
And  wap  them  into  our  ship's  side. 

And  letna  the  sea  come  in." 

They  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Anither  of  the  twine. 
And  wapped  them  round  that  gude  ship's  side^ 

But  still  the  sea  cam'  in. 

O  laith,  laith  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 

To  weet  their  cork-heel'd  shoon! 
But  lang  or  a'  the  play  was  play'd, 

They  wat  their  hats  aboon. 

And  mony  was  the  feather-bed. 

That  floated  o'er  the  faem; 

And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son. 

That  never  mair  came  hame. 

[554] 


I 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  ladjes  wrang  their  fingers  white,  Talcs 

The  maidens  tore  their  hair,  of  the 

A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves;  9/^'''" 
For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 


O  lang,  lang,  may  the  ladyes  sit, 

Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand, 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Come  sailing  to  the  strand ! 

And  lang,  lang,  may  the  maidens  sit, 
Wi'  their  goud  kaims  in  their  hair, 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves! 
For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

Half  ower,  half  ower  to  Aberdour, 

It's  fifty  fathoms  deep, 
And  there  hes  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 

Old  Ballad. 


Time 

r 


The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of  Islington 

There  was  a  youthe,  and  a  well-beloved  j^outhe, 

And  he  was  a  squire's  son ; 
He  loved  the  bayliffe's  daughter  deare, 

That  lived  in  Islington. 

1555] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Tales    Yet  she  was  coye,  and  would  not  believe 
of  the        rpj^at  he  did  love  her  soe, 

Time     "^^^  ^^^  ^^  ^^y  time  would  she 

Any  countenance  to  him  showe. 

But  when  his  friendes  did  understand 
His  fond  and  foolish  minde, 

They  sent  him  up  to  f  aire  London, 
An  apprentice  for  to  binde. 

And  when  he  had  been  seven  long  yeares. 
And  never  his  love  could  see, — 

"  Many  a  teare  have  I  shed  for  her  sake. 
When  she  little  thought  of  mee." 

Then  all  the  maids  of  Islington 
Went  forth  to  sport  and  playe. 

All  but  the  bayliffe's  daughter  deare; 
She  secretly  stole  awaye. 

She  pulled  off  her  gowne  of  greene, 

And  put  on  ragged  attire, 
And  to  faire  London  she  would  go 

Her  true  love  to  enquire. 

And  as  she  went  along  the  high  road, 
The  weather  being  hot  and  drye, 

She  sat  her  downe  upon  a  green  bank. 
And  her  true  love  came  riding  bye. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

She  started  up,  with  a  colour  see  redd,  Tales 

Catching  hold  of  his  bridlc-reinc ;  of  the 

"  One  penny,  one  penny,  kind  sir,"  she  sayd,         "H!^'" 

ti  ix^-n  /•  .  .  lime 

Will  ease  me  of  much  pame." 

"Before  I  give  you  one  penny,  sweet-heart, 
Praye  tell  me  where  you  were  borne." 

"  At  Islington,  kind  sir,"  sayd  shee, 
•'  Where  I  have  had  many  a  scorne." 

"  I  prythee,  sweet-heart,  then  tell  to  mee, 

O  tell  me,  whether  }'ou  knowe 
The  bayliffe's  daughter  of  Islington." 

"  She  is  dead,  sir,  long  agoe." 

•'  If  she  be  dead,  then  take  my  horse, 

My  saddle  and  bridle  also ; 
For  I  will  into  some  farr  countrye. 

Where  noe  man  shall  me  knowe." 

*'  O  staj^e,   O  staye,  thou  goodlye  youthe, 

She  standeth  by  thy  side; 
She  is  here  alive,  she  is  not  dead. 

And  readye  to  be  thy  bride." 

"  0  farewell  grief e,  and  welcome  joye. 

Ten  thousand  times  therefore ; 
For  nowe  I  have  founde  mine  owne  true  love, 
Whom  I  thought  I  should  never  see  more.** 

Old  Ballad. 
[557] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Tales         King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury 
of  the 
Olden     An  ancient  storj  I'll  tell  you  anon 

2wie     Of  a  notable  prince,  that  was  called  King  John ; 

And  he  ruled  England  with  main  and  with  might, 

For  he  did  great  wrong  and  maintained  little 

right. 

And  I'll  tell  you  a  story,  a  story  so  merry, 
Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterburj" ; 
How  for  his  housekeeping  and  high  renown, 
They  rode  post  for  him  to  fair  London  town. 

An  hundred  men,  the  King  did  hear  say. 
The  Abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day ; 
And  fifty  gold  chains,  without  any  doubt. 
In  velvet  coats  waited  the  Abbot  about. 

"  How  now,  Father  Abbot,  I  hear  it  of  thee, 
Thou  keepest  a  far  better  house  than  me; 
And  for  thy  housekeeping  and  high  renown, 
I  fear  thou  work'st  treason  against  my  crown." 

"  My  liege,"  quo'  the  Abbot,  "  I  would  it  were 

knowne, 
I  never  spend  nothing  but  what  is  my  owne ; 
And   I   trust   your   Grace   will   not   put   me   in 

fear. 
For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  gear." 

[5.58] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

**  Yes,  yes,  Father  Abbot,  thy  fault  is  highc,  Tales 

And  now  for  the  same  thou  needst  must  dye ;      '.'/  '^"^ 
For  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions  throe, 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie. 


"  And  first,"  quo'  the  King,  "  when  I'm  in  tliis 

stead. 
With  my  crowne  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head. 
Among  all  my  liege-men,  so  noble  of  birthe, 
Thou  must  tell  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worthc. 

*'  Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  I  may  ride  the  whole  world  about. 
And  at  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  think." 

*'  Oh,  these  arc  hard  questions  for  my  shallow 

witt. 
Nor  I  cannot  answer  your  Grace  as  yet'. 
But  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  wcekes  space, 
He  do  my  endeavour  to  answer  your  Grace." 

"  Now  three  weeks'  space  to  thee  will  I  give. 
And  that  is  the  longest  time  thou  hast  to  live ; 
For  if  thou  dost  not  answer  my  questions  three. 
Thy  land  and  thy  livings  are  forfeit  to  me." 

Away  rode  the  Abbot  all  sad  at  that  word. 
And  he  rode  to  Cambridge  and  Oxenford; 

1 559  1 


Olden 
1  ime 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales     But  never  a  doctor  there  was  so  wise, 

?/  ^''^    That  could  with  his  learning;  an  answer  devise. 
Olden  ^ 

I  WW     ""phen  home  rode  the  Abbot  of  comfort  so  cold, 

^        And  he  met  his  Shepherd  a-going  to  fold : 

"  How  now,  my  Lord  Abbot,  jou  are  welcome 

home ; 

What  news  do  you  bring  us  from  good  King 

John?" 


1 


<( 


Sad  news,  sad  news,  Shepherd,  I  must  give, 
That  I  have  but  three  days  more  to  live; 
I  must  answer  the  King  his  questions  three, 
Or  my  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 

"  The  first  is  to  tell  him,  there  In  that  stead, 
With  his  crown  of  gold  so  fair  on  his  head, 
Among  all  his  liegemen  so  noble  of  birth. 
To  within  one  penny  of  what  he  is  worth. 

"  The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soone  he  may  ride  this  whole  world  about: 
And  at  the  third  question  I  must  not  shrinke. 
But  tell  him  there  truly  what  he  does  thinke." 

"  Now  cheare  up.  Sire  Abbot,  did  you  never  hear 

yet, 

That  a  fool  he  may  learne  a  wise  man  witt? 
Lend  me  horse,  and  serving-men,  and  your  ap- 
parel. 
And  I'll  ride  to  London  to  answere  yo"r  quarrel 


GOLDEN   NUMBEKS 

"  Nay  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto  mee,  Tale'^ 

I  am  like  your  Lordship,  as  ever  may  bee:  'V  "'* 

And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne,  L.  ^" 
There  is  none   shall   knowe   us   in   fair   London 

towne."  ▼ 

"  Now  horses  and  serving-men  thou  shalt  have, 
With  sumptuous  array  most  gallant  and  brave; 
With  crozicr,  and  mitre,  and  rochet,  and  cope, 
Fit  to  appear  'fore  our  Father  the  Pope." 

"  Now   wclcon:e,   Sire  Abbot,"  the  king  he  did 

say, 
"  'Tis  well  thou'rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy  day; 
For  and  if  thou  canst  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

"  And   first,    when   thou   seest   me,   liere   in   this 

stead. 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  fair  on  my  head, 
Among  all  uiy  liege-men  so  noble  of  birthe, 
Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth." 

"  For  thirty  pence  our  Saviour  was  sold 
Among  the  false  Jewes,  as  I  have  bin  told : 
And  twentA'-nine  is  the  worth  of  thee. 
For  I  thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worse  than  he.'* 

The  King  lie  laughed,  and  swore  by  SI.  Bitfel, 
"  J  did  not  think  I  had  been  worth  so  in  lie! 

I  561  I 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

tales     Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 

oj  the     j^ow  soon  I  may  ride  this  whole  world  about." 
Olden 

Time     "  You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with  the 
2p  same, 

Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  again ; 

And  then  your  Grace  need  not  make  any  doubt 

But  in  twenty-four  hours  you'll  ride  it  about." 

The  King  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Jone, 
"  I  did  not  think  it  could  be  gone  so  soon. 
Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  do  I  think." 

"  Yea,  that  I   shall  do  and   make  your  Grace 

merry ; 
You  think  I'm  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury ; 
But  I'm  his  poor  shepherd,  as  plain  you  may  see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for  me.'* 

The  King  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  the  mass, 
"  I'll   make   thee   Lord   Abbot   this   day   in  his 


Pl 


ace 


I  " 


"  Nay,  nay,  my  Liege,  be  not  in  such  speed, 
For  alack,  I  can  neither  write  nor  read." 

"  Four  nobles  a  week,  then,  I  will  give  thee, 
For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  shown  unto  me; 
And  tell  the  old  Abbot,  Avhen  thou  gettest  home, 
Thou  hast  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good  King 
John." 

Old  Ballad. 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Lord  Beicluin  and  Susie  Fye  Taks 

Lord  Beichan  was  a  noble  lord,  ^^  '*^ 

A  noble  lord  of  high  degree ;  Ti  "* 

But  he  was  ta'en  by  a  savage  JVIoor,  ^ 

Who  treated  him  right  cruellie. 

In  ilka  shoulder  was  put  a  bore, 

In  ilka  bore  was  put  a  tree ; 
And  heavy  loads  they  made  him  draw, 

Till  he  was  sick,  and  like  to  dee. 

Then  he  was  cast  in  a  dungeon  deep, 
Where  he  cou'd  neither  hear  nor  see ; 

And  seven  long  years  they  kept  him  there. 
Both  cold  and  hunger  sore  to  dree. 

The  Moor  he  had  an  only  daughter, 

The  damsel's  name  was  Susie  Pye ; 
And  ilka  day  as  she  took  the  air, 

Lord  Beichan's  prison  she  pass'd  by. 

Young  Susie  Pye  had  a  tender  heart, 

Tho'  she  was  come  of  a  cruel  kin ; 
And  sore  she  sigh'd,  she  knew  not  why. 

For  him  who  lay  that  dungeon  in. 

"Oh,  were  I  but  the  prison  keeper, 

As  I'm  a  lady  of  high  degree, 
I  soon  wou'd  set  this  youth  at  larn-e. 

And  send  him  to  his  own  countrie." 

[563] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Talcs         She  gave  the  keeper  a  piece  of  gold, 
t/   '"''  And  many  pieces  of  white  monie, 

-r  To  unlock  to  her  the  prison  doors, 

That  she  Lord  Beichan  might  go  set. 


Lord  Beichan  he  did  marvel  sore, 

The  Moor's  fair  daughter  there  to  see; 

But  took  her  for  some  captive  maid, 

Brought  from  some  land  in  Christendie. 

For  when  she  saw  his  wretched  plight, 
Her  tears  fell  fast  and  bitterlie ; 

And  thus  the  Moor's  fair  daughter  spake 
Unto  Lord  Beichan  tenderlie: 

*'  Oh,  have  ye  any  lands,"  she  said, 
"  Or  castles  in  your  own  countrie, 

That  yc  cou'd  give  to  a  lady  fair. 
From  prison  strong  to  set  you  free  ?  '* 

*'  Oh,  I  have  lands  both  fair  and  braid. 

And  I  have  castles  fair  to  see ; 
But  I  wou'd  give  them  all,"  he  said, 

"  From  prison  strong  to  be  set  free. 


>j 


"  Plight  me  the  truth  of  your  right  hand. 

The  truth  of  it  here  plight  to  me. 

That  till  seven  years  are  past  and  gone. 

No  lady  ye  will  wed  but  me." 
'  564  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  For  seven  long  years  I  do  make  a  vow,  Tales 

And  seven  long  years  I'll  keep  it  true,  <{f'  ^^ 

If  you  wed  with  no  other  man,  ^^^^ 

No  other  lady  I'll  wed  but  you."  *"^ 


J 


Then  she  has  bribed  the  prison-keeper 
With  store  of  gold  and  white  monie 

To  loose  the  chain  that  bound  him  so 
And  set  Lord  Beichan  once  more  free. 

A  ring  she  from  her  finger  broke, 
And  half  of  it  to  him  gave  she, — 

"  Keep  it,  to  mind  you  of  the  maid 
Who  out  of  prison  set  ^-ou  free." 

She  had  him  put  on  good  shipboard, 
That  he  might  safely  cross  the  main; 

Then  said,  "  Adieu !  my  Christian  lord, 
I  fear  we  ne'er  may  meet  again." 

Lord  Beichan  turn'd  him  round  about, 
And  lowly,  lowly  bent  his  knee; 

*'  Ere  seven  years  are  come  and  gone, 
I'll  take  you  to  my  own  countrie." 

But  Susie  Pye  cou'd  get  no  rest, 

Nor  day  nor  night  cou'd  happy  be; 

For  something  whisper'd  in  her  breast, 

"  Lord  Beichan  will  prove  false  to  thee." 
[  565  I 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales         So  she  set  foot  on  good  shipboard, 

of  the  Well  mann'd  and  fitted  eallantlle; 

Olden  . 

Time  ^^^^  bade  adieu  to  her  father's  towers, 

f^  And  left  behind  her  own  countrle. 


Then  she  sailed  west,  and  she  sailed  northj 
She  sailed  far  o'er  the  salt  sea  faem; 

And  after  many  weary  days. 

Unto  fair  England's  shore  she  came. 

Then  she  went  to  Lord  Beichan's  gate. 
And  she  tirl'd  gently  at  the  pin, 

And  ask'd — "  Is  this  Lord  Beichan's  hall} 
And  is  that  noble  lord  within  ?  " 

The  porter  ready  answer  made, — 

"  Oh  yes,  this  is  Lord  Beichan's  hall; 

And  he  is  also  here  within, 

With  bride  and  guests  assembled  all." 

*'  And  has  he  betroth'd  another  love, 
And  has  he  quite  forgotten  me. 

To  whom  he  plighted  his  love  and  troth. 
When  from  prison  I  did  him  free? 

'*  Bear  to  j^our  lord,  ye  proud  porter, 

Thi.=  parted  ring,  the  plighted  token 

Of  mutual  love,  and  mutual  vows, 

By  him,  alas!  now  falsely  broken. 
(566] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  And  bid  him  send  one  bit  of  bread,  Tolrx 

And  bid  him  send  one  cup  of  wine,  <?/  '^'^ 

Unto  the  maid  he  hath  betray'd,  9/^''" 
Tho    she  freed  him  from  cruel  pine."  ^ 

The  porter  hasten'd  to  his  lord, 

And  fell  down  on  his  bended  knee: 
"  My  lord,  a  lady  stands  at  your  gate, 

The  fairest  lady  I  e'er  did  see. 

"  On  every  finger  she  has  a  ring, 

And  on  her  middle  finger  three; 
With  as  much  gold  above  her  brow 

As  wou'd  buy  an  earldom  to  me." 

It's  out  then  spake  the  bride's  mother. 
Both  loud  and  angry  out  spake  she, — 

*'  Ye  might  have  excepted  our  bonnie  bride, 
If  not  more  of  this  companie." 


*'  My  dame,  your  daughter's  fair  enough. 
Her  beauty's  not  denied  by  me; 

But  were  she  ten  times  fairer  still. 

With  this  lady  ne'er  compare  cou'd  she. 


<( 


My  lord,  she  asks  one  bit  of  bread. 
And  bids  you  send  one  cup  of  wine ; 
And  to  remember  the  lady's  love. 
Who  freed  you  out  of  cruel  pine." 
[  56T  ] 


Taleg 

of  the 

Olden 

Time 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Lord  Beichan  hied  him  down  the  stair,— 
Of  fifteen  steps  he  made  but  three, 

Until  he  came  to  Susie  Pye, 

Whom  he  did  kiss  most  tenderlle. 


He's  ta'en  her  by  the  lily  hand, 
And  led  her  to  his  noble  hall, 

Where  stood  his  sore-bewilder'd  bridej, 
And  wedding  guests  assembled  all. 

Fair  Susie  blushing  look'd  around, 
Upon  the  lords  and  ladies  gay; 

Then  with  the  tear-drops  in  her  eyes, 
Unto  Lord  Beichan  she  did  say: 

"  Oh,  have  ye  ta'en  another  bride. 

And  broke  your  plighted  vows  to  me? 

Then  fare  thee  well,  my  Christian  lord) 
I'll  try  to  think  no  more  on  thee. 

"  But  sadly  I  will  wend  my  way, 
And  sadly  I  will  cross  the  sea. 

And  sadly  will  with  grief  and  shame 
Return  unto  my  own  countrie." 

*'  Oh,  never,  never,  Susie  Pye, 

Oh,  never  more  shall  you  leave  me ; 

This  night  you'll  be  my  wedded  wife. 

And  lady  of  my  lands  so  free." 
[568] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Syne  up  then  spake  the  bride's  mother,  Tnla 

She  ne'er  before  did  speak  so  free, —  ^J  '^'^ 

"  You'll  not  forsake  my  dear  daughter,  y 

For  sake  of  her  from  Pagandie."  ^ 

"  Take  home,  take  home  your  daughter  dear, 

She's  not  a  pin  the  worse  of  me ; 
She  came  to  me  on  horseback  riding, 

But  shall  go  back  in  a  coach  and  three." 

Lord  Beichan  got  ready  another  wedding, 
And  sang,  with  heart  brimful  of  glee, — 

*'  Oh,  I'll  range  no  more  in  foreign  lands. 
Since  Susie  Pye  has  cross'd  the  sea." 

Old  Ballad. 


The  Gay  Gos-hawk 

**  O  well  is  me,  my  gay  gos-hawk, 
That  you  can  speak  and  flee; 

For  you  can  carry  a  love-letter 
To  my  true  love  frae  me." 

*'  O  how  can  I  carry  a  letter  to  her, 
Or  how  should  I  her  know  ? 

I  bear  a  tongue  ne'er  wi'  her  spak% 
lAnd  eyes  that  ne'er  her  saw." 

£569] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales     "  The  white  o'  my  love's  skin  is  white 
oj  the         ^g  (]own  o'  dove  or  maw; 

T'me     '^^^  ^^^  °'  ^y  love's  cheek  is  red 
^  As  blood  that's  spilt  on  snaw. 

"  When  ye  come  to  the  castle, 

Light  on  the  tree  of  ash, 
And  sit  you  there  and  sing  our  loves 

As  she  comes  frae  the  mass. 

"  Four  and  twenty  fair  ladies 

Will  to  the  mass  repair; 
And  weel  may  ye  my  lady  ken. 

The  fairest  lady  there." 

When  the  gos-hawk  flew  to  that  castle. 

He   lighted  on  the  ash; 
And  there  he  sat  and  sang  their  loves 

As  she  came  frae  the  mass. 

*'  Stay  where  ye  be,  my  maidens  a% 

And  sip  red  wine  anon, 
Till  I  go  to  my  west  window 

And   hear    a   birdie's   moan." 

She's  gane  unto  her  west  window, 

The  bolt  she  f ainly  drew ; 

And  unto  that  lady's  white,  white  neclc 

The  bird  a  letter  threw. 

[670] 


\ 


GOLDEN   NUIMBERS 

"  Ye're  bidden  to  send  your  love  a  send,  Talet 

For  he  has  sent  you  twa ;  vf  the 

And  tell  him  where  he  may  see  you  soon,  ^^f'*'" 

Or  he  cannot  live  ava."  ""* 

"  I  send  him  the  ring  from  my  finger, 

The  garland  off  my  hair, 
I  send  him  the  heart  that's  in  my  breast; 

What  would  my  love  have  mair? 
And  at  the  fourth  kirk  in  fair  Scotland, 

Ye'll  bid  him  wait  for  me  there." 

She  hied  her  to  her  father  dear 

As  fast  as  gang  could  she: 
"  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  my  father  dear; 

An  asking  grant  you  me !  " 
"Ask  me  na  for  that  Scottish  lord, 

For  him  ye'll  never  see !  " 

"  An  asking,  an  asking,  dear  father !  "  she  says, 

"  An  asking  grant  you  me ; 
That  if  I  die  in  fair  England, 

In  Scotland  ye'll  bury  me. 

"  At  the  first  kirk  o'  fair  Scotland, 

You  cause  the  bells  be  rung; 
At  the  second  kirk  o'  fair  Scotland, 

You  cause  the  mass  be  sung ; 

*'  At  the  third  kirk  o'  fair  Scotland, 
You  deal  gold  for  my  sake; 

[571] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Tales    At  the  fourth  kirk  o*  fair  Scotland, 

>f  the 
Olden 
Time 


Ht  the         O  there  you'll  bury  me  at ! 
Olden  "^ 


"  This  is  all  mv  asking,  father, 

I  pray  you  grant  it  me !  " 
"  Your  asking  is  but  small,"  he  said ; 

"  Weel  granted  it  shall  be. 
But  why  do  ye  talk  o'  suchlike  things? 

For  ye  arena  going  to  dee." 

The  lady's  gane  to  her  chamber, 
And  a  raoanfu'  woman  was  she, 

As  gin  she  had  ta'en  a  sudden  brash, 
And  were  about  to  dee. 

The  lady's  gane  to  her  chamber 

As  fast  as  she  could  fare: 
And  she  has  drunk  a  sleep}'  draught. 

She  mix'd  it  wi'  mickle  care. 

She's  fallen  into  a  heavy  trance, 
And  pale  and  cold  was  she; 

She  seemed  to  be  as  surely  dead 
As  ony  corpse  could  be. 

Out  and  spak'  an  auld  witch-wife. 

At  the  fireside  sat  she : 
*'  Gin  she  has  killed  herself  for  love, 

I  wot  it  weel  may  be: 

[375] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

"  But  drap  the  het  lead  on  her  cheek,  Talet 

And  drap  in  on  her  chin,  of  the 

And  rap  it  on  her  bosom  white,  ?(!''''' 
And  she'll  maybe  speak  again. 

'Tis  much  that  a  young  lady  will  do  » 
To  her  true  love  to  win." 

They  drapped  the  het  lead  on  her  cheek, 

They  drapped  it  on  her  chin. 
They  drapped  it  on  her  bosom  white, 

But  she  spake  none  again. 

Her  brothers  they  went  to  a  room, 

To  make  to  her  a  bier; 
The  boards  were  a'  o'  the  cedar  wood. 

The  edges  o'  silver  clear. 

Her  sisters  the}'  went  to  a  room, 

To  make  to  her  a  sark ; 
The  cloth  was  a'  o'  the  satin  fine. 

And  the  stitching  silken-wark. 

*'  Now  well  is  me,  my  gay  gos-hawk. 

That  ye  can  speak  and  flee! 
Come  show  me  any  love-tokens 

That  you  have  brought  to  me." 

*'  She  send?  you  the  ring  frae  her  white  finger, 

The  garland  frae  her  hair; 

[573] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 


Tales     She  sends  you  the  heart  within  her  breast; 

)f  the 

Olden 

Time 


of  the         And  what  would  you  have  mair? 

And  at  the  fourth  kirk  o'  fair  Scotland 


She  bids  you  wait  for  her  there." 

"  Come  hither,  all  my  merry  young  men ! 

And  drink  the  good  red  wine; 
For  we  must  on  towards  fair  England 

To  free  my  love  frac  pine." 

The   funeral   came  into  fair   Scotland, 
And  they  gart  the  bells  be  rung; 

And  when  it  came  to  the  second  kirk, 
They  gart  the  mass  be  sung. 

And  when  it  came  to  the  third  kirk. 
They  dealt  gold  for  her  sake; 

And  when  it  came  to  the  fourth  kirk, 
Her  love  was  waiting  thereat. 

At  the  fourth  kirk  in  fair  Scotland 

Stood  spearmen  in  a  row; 
And  up  and  started  her  ain  true  love. 

The   chieftain  over  them  a'. 

**  Set  down,  set  down  the  bier,"  he  says, 

"  Till  I  look  upon  the  dead ; 

The  last  time  that  I  saw  her  face. 

Its  color  was  warm  and  red." 

[5741 


lime 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

He  stripped  the  sheet  from  afF  her  face  'falee 

A  little  below  the  chin ;  of  the 

The  lady  then  she  opcn'd  her  eyes,  '^^(f^f" 
And  looked  full  on  liim. 

"  O  give  me  a  shive  o'  your  bread,  love, 

O  give  me  a  cup  o'  your  wine! 
Long  have  I  fasted  for  your  sake, 

And  now  I  fain  would  dine. 

"  Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  my  seven  brothers, 

Gae  hame  and  blaw  the  horn! 
And  ye  may  say  that  ye  sought  my  skaith, 

And  that  I  hae  gi'en  you  the  scorn. 

"  I  cam'  na  here  to  bonny  Scotland 

To  lie  down  in  the  clay; 
But  I  cam'  here  to  bonny  Scotland 

To  wear  the  silks  sae  gay! 

"  I  carp'  aa  here  to  bonny  Scotland 

Amang  the  dead  to  rest; 
But  I  cam'  here  to  bonny  Scotland 

To  the  man  that  I  lo'e  best!  " 

Old  Ballad. 


[575] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales  Earl  Mar's  Daughter 

of  the 

Olden         -ft  was  intill  a  pleasant  time, 

Time  Upon  a  simmer's  day, 

jp  The  noble  Earl  of  Mar's  daughter 

Went  forth  to  sport  and  play. 

And  as  she  played  and  sported 

Below  a  green  aik  tree, 
There  she  saw  a  sprightly  doo 

Set  on  a  branch  sae  hie. 

**  O  Coo-my-doo,  my  love  sae  true, 
If  ye'll  come  doun  to  me, 

Ye'se  hae  a  cage  o'  gude  red  goud 
Instead  o'  simple  tree. 

"  I'll  tak'  ye  hame  and  pet  ye  weel, 
Within  my  bower  and  ha' ; 

I'll  gar  ye  shine  as  fair  a  bird 
As  ony  o'  them  a' !  " 

And  she  had  nae  these  words  weel  spokt. 
Nor  yet  these  words  weel  said, 

Till  Coo-my-doo  flew  frae  the  brancli. 
And  lighted  on  her  head. 

Then  she  has  brought  this  pretty  bird 
Hame  to  her  bower  and  ha', 

And  made  him  shine  as  fair  a  bird 
As  ony  o'  them  a'. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

When  day  was  gane,  and  night  was  come,  Taks 

About  the  evening-tide,  *?/  ^he 

This  lady  spied  a  bonny  youth  ,r,^^" 

Stand  straight  up  by  her  side.  ^ 

"  Now  whence  come  ye,  young  man,"  she  said, 

"  To  put  me  into  fear? 
My  door  was  bolted  right  secui'e, 

And  what  way  cam'  ye  here?  " 

"  O  baud  your  tongue,  my  lady  fair, 

Lat  a'  your  folly  be; 
Mind  ye  not  o'  your  turtle-doo 

Ye  coax'd  from  aif  the  tree?  " 

"O  wha  are  ye,  young  man?"  she  said, 

"  What  country  come  ye  frae?  " 
*'  I  flew  across  tlie  sea,"  he  said, 

"  'Twas  but  this  verra  day. 

"  My  mither  is  a  queen,"  he  says, 

Likewise  of  magic  skill ; 
*'Twas  she  that  turned  me  in  a  doo, 

To  fly  where'er  I  will. 

"  And  it  was  but  this  verra  day 

That  I  cam'  ower  the  sea : 
I  loved  you  at  a  single  look; 

With  you  I'll  live  and  dee." 
[  '^^7  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales         "  O  Coo-my-doo,  my  love  sae  true, 
nu  ^^^  mair  frae  me  ye'se  gae." 

Time  "  That's  never  my  intent,  my  love; 

to»  As  ye  said,  it  shall  be  sae." 

There  he  has  lived  in  bower  wl'  her, 
For  six  lang  years  and  ane; 

Till  sax  young  sons  to  him  she  bare, 
And  the  seventh  she's  brought  hame» 

But  aye,  as  soon's  a  child  was  bom, 

He  carried  them  away. 
And  brought  them  to  his  mither's  care. 

As  fast  as  he  could  fly. 

Thus  he  has  stay'd  in  bower  wi'  her 
For  seven  lang  years  and  mair; 

Till  there  cam'  a  lord  o'  hie  renown 
To  court  that  lady  fair. 

But  still  his  proffer  she  refused, 

And  a'  his  presents  too; 
Says,  "  I'm  content  to  live  alane 

Wi'  my  bird  Coo-my-doo !  " 

Her  father  sware  an  angry  oath, 

He  sware  it  wi'  ill-will: 
•*  To-morrow,  ere  I  eat  or  drink, 

That  bird  I'll  surely  kill." 

[  5T8  ] 


Time 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  bird  was  sitting  in  his  cage,  y.^^ 

And  heard  what  he  did  say ;  of  the 

He  jumped  upon  the  window-sill:  ^^"» 

"  'Tis  time  I  was  away." 

Then  Coo-my-doo  took  flight  and  flew 

Beyond  the  raging  sea, 
And  lighted  at  his  mither's  castle, 

Upon  a  tower  sae  hie. 

The  Queen  his  mither  was  walking  out, 

To  see  what  she  could  see, 
And  there  she  saw  her  darling  son 

Set  on  the  tower  sae  hie. 

"  Get  dancers  here  to  dance,"  she  said, 

"  And  minstrels  for  to  play ; 
For  here's  my  dear  son  Florentine 

Come  back  wi'  me  to  stay." 

"  Get  nae  dancers  to  dance,  mither, 

Nor  minstrels  for  to  play; 
For  the  mither  o'  my  seven  sons, 

The  morn's  her  wedding  day." 

"  Now  tell  me,  dear  son  Florentine* 

O  tell,  and  tell  me  true; 
Tell  me  this  day,  without  delay. 

What  sail  I  do  for  you.?" 
[579] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales  "  Instead  of  dancers  to  dance,  mither, 
H/  "'^^  Or  minstrels  for  to  play, 

^-  Turn  four-and-twenty  well-wlght  men» 
fat  Like  storks,  in  feathers  gray ; 

"  My  seven  sons  in  seven  swans, 
Aboon  their  heads  to  flee; 

And  I  myself  a  gay  gos-hawk, 
A  bird  o'  high  degree." 

Then,  sighing,  said  the  Queen  to  hersell 
"  That  thing's  too  high  for  me ! " 

But  she  applied  to  an  auld  woman, 
Who  had  mair  skill  than  she. 

Instead  o'  dancers  to  dance  a  dance, 

Or  minstrels  for  to  play, 
Were  four-and-twenty  well-wight  men 

Turn'd  birds  o'  feathers  gray; 

Her  seven  sons  in  seven  swans, 

Aboon  their  heads  to  flee; 
And  he  himsell  a  gay  gos-hawk, 

A  bird  o'  high  degree. 

This  flock  o'  birds  took  flight  and  flew 

Beyond  the  raging  sea; 
They  landed  near  the  Earl  Mar's  castle. 

Took  shelter  in  every  tree. 
[580] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

They  were  a  flock  o'  pretty  birds.  Talcs 

Right  wondrous  to  be  seen ;  ?/  '/'<? 

The  weddin'eers  they  looked  at  them  ^^^' 
Whilst  walking  on  the  green. 


These  birds  flew  up  frae  bush  and  tree, 

And,  lighted  on  the  ha'; 
And,  when  the  wedding-train  cam'  forth, 

Flew  down  amang  them  a'. 

The  storks  they  seized  the  boldest  men, 
That  they  could  not  fight  or  flee; 

The  swans  they  bound  the  bridegroom  fast 
Unto  a  green  aik  tree. 

They  flew  around  the  bride-maidens, 
Around  the  bride's  own  head; 

And,  wi'  the  twinkling  o'  an  ee. 
The  bride  and  they  were  fled. 

There's  ancient  men  at  weddings  been 

For  eighty  years  or  more; 
But  siccan  a  curious  wedding-day 

They  never  saw  before. 

For  naething  could  the  company  do, 

Nor  naething  could  they  say ; 
But  they  saw  a  flock  o'  pretty  birds 

That  took  their  bride  away. 

Old  Ballad. 
[5811 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales  Chevy-Cliace 

of  the         ^    ,  1  1 1    1  • 

Olden         ^^°  prosper  long  our  noble  king, 

Tivie  Our  lives  and  safeties  all ; 

SP  a  woful  hunting  once  there  did 

In  Chevy-Chace  befall. 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn 
Earl  Percy  took  his  way ; 

The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn 
The  hunting  of  that  day. 

The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 
A  vow  to  God  did  make, 

His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 
Three  summer  days  to  take, — 

The  chiefest  harts  in  Chevy-Chace 

To  kill  and  bear  away. 
These  tidings  to  Earl  Douglas  came, 

In  Scotland  where  he  lay ; 

Who  sent  Earl  Percy  present  word 
He  would  prevent  his  sport. 

The  English  earl,  not  fearing  that, 
Did  to  the  woods  resort 

With  fifteen  hundred  bowmen  bold, 
All  chosen  men  of  might. 

Who  knew  full  well  in  time  of  need 
To  aim  their  shafts  aright. 
[582] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  gallant  greyhounds  swiftly  ran  Taica 

To  chase  the  fallow  deer;  of  the 

On  Monday  they  began  to  hunt  ?''''''' 

1  ting 
Ere  daylight  did  appear; 

And  long  before  high  noon  they  had 

A  hundred  fat  bucks  slain ; 
Then  having  dined,  the  drovers  went 

To  rouse  the  deer  again. 


*fc>^ 


The  bowmen  mustered  on  the  hills, 

Well  able  to  endure; 
And  all  their  rear,  with  special  care, 

That  day  was  guarded  sure. 

The  hounds  ran  swiftly  through  the  woods, 

The  nimble  deer  to  take, 
That  with  their  cries  the  hills  and  dales 

An  echo  shrill  did  make. 

Lord  Percy  to  the  quarry  went, 
To  view  the  slaughtered  deer; 

Quoth  he,  "  Earl  Douglas  promised 
This  day  to  meet  me  here; 

*'  But  if  I  thought  he  would  not  come. 

No  longer  would  I  stay ;  " 

With  that  a  brave  young  gentleman 

Thus  to  the  Earl  did  say: 
[583] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales         "  Lo,  yonder  doth  Earl  Douglas  come, 
oj  *fie  jjjg  j^gjj  [^  armor  bright ; 

7  imp         Full  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears 
All  marching  in  our  sight; 


"  All  men  of  pleasant  Teviotdale, 

Fast  by  the  river  Tweed ;  " 
*'  Then  cease  your  sports,"  Earl  Percy  said, 

"  And  take  your  bows  with  speed ; 

**  And  now  with  me,  my  countrymen, 

Your  courage  forth  advance; 
For  never  was  there  champion  yet, 

In  Scotland  or  in  France, 

**  That  ever  did  on  horseback  come, 

But  if  my  hap  it  were, 
I  durst  encounter  man  for  man, 

With  him  to  break  a  spear." 

Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company. 

Whose  annor  shone  like  gold. 

"  Show  me,"  said  he,  "  whose  men  you  be, 

That  hunt  so  boldly  here. 

That,  without  my  consent,  do  chase 

And  kill  my  fallow-deer." 
[584] 


n 


Yet  will  we  spend  our  dearest  blood 
Thy  chiefest  harts  to  slay." 
Then  Douglas  swore  a  solemn  oath, 
And  thus  in  rage  did  say : 

"  Ere  thus  I  will  out-braved  be, 

One  of  us  two  shall  die; 
I  know  thee  well,  an  earl  thou  art — 

Lord  Percy,  so  am  I. 

"  But  trust  me,  Percy,  pity  it  were. 

And  great  offence,  to  kill 
Any  of  these  our  guiltless  men, 

For  they  have  done  no  ill. 

"  Let  thou  and  I  the  battle  try. 

And  set  our  men  aside." 
"  Accursed  be  he,"  Earl  Percy  said, 

"  By  whom  this  is  denied." 

Then  stepped  a  gallant  squire  forth, 

Witherington  was  his  name, 
Who  said,  "  I  would  not  have  it  told 

To  Henry,  our  king,  for  shame, 

[585] 


es 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  first  man  that  did  answer  make,  Tal, 

Was  noble  Percy  he —  uf  the 

Who  said,  "  We  list  not  to  declare,  ^^(^J''' 
Nor  show  whose  men  we  be : 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales         "  That  e'er  my  captain  fought  on  foot, 

%idm  ^"^  ^  ^^"^^  looking  on. 

7me         ^^^  ^^°  ^^  earls,"  said  Witherington, 
tok  "  And  I  a  squire  alone ; 

"  I'll  do  the  best  that  do  I  may, 
While  I  have  power  to  stand; 

While  I  have  power  to  wield  my  swordj 
I'll  fight  with  heart  and  hand." 

Our  English  archers  bent  their  bows — 
Their  hearts  were  good  and  true; 

At  the  first  flight  of  arrows  sent, 
Full  fourscore  Scots  they  slew. 

Yet  stays  Earl  Douglas  on  the  bent, 
As  Chieftain  stout  and  good; 

As  valiant  Captain,  all  unmoved. 
The  shock  he  firmly  stood. 

His  host  he  parted  had  in  three, 

As  leader  ware  and  tried; 
And  soon  his  spearmen  on  their  foes 

Bore  down  on  every  side. 

Throughout  the  English  archery 
They  dealt  full  many  a  wound ; 

But  still  our  valiant  Englishmen 
All  firmly  kept  their  ground. 
[586] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  throwing  straight  their  bows  away,  Tales 

They  grasped  their  swords  so  bright ;  ^f  '^ 

And  now  sharp  blows,  a  heavy  shower,  j-  ^ 

On  shields  and  helmets  light.  . 

They  closed  full  fast  on  every  side — 

No  slackness  there  was  found; 
And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 

Lay  gasping  on  the  ground. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  grief  to  see 

How  each  one  chose  his  spear, 
And  how  the  blood  out  of  their  breasts 

Did  gush  like  water  clear. 

At  last  these  two  stout  earls  did  meet; 

Like  captains  of  great  might, 
Like  lions  wode,  they  laid  on  lode, 

And  made  a  cruel  fight. 

They  fought  until  they  both  did  sweat, 

With  swords  of  tempered  steel. 
Until  the  blood,  like  drops  of  rain. 

They  trickling  down  did  feel. 

"Yield  thee,  Lord  Percy,"  Douglas  said; 

"  In  faith  I  will  thee  bring 
Where  thou  shalt  high  advanced  be 

B;j^  James,  our  Scottish  king. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales         "  Thy  ransom  I  will  freely  give, 
oj  the  ^jj(j  ^jjjg  report  of  thee, 

TiTTie         Thou  art  the  most  courageous  knight 
to»  That  ever  I  did  see." 

"  No,  Douglas,"  saith  Earl  Percy  then. 

"  Thy  proffer  I  do  scorn ; 
I  will  not  yield  to  any   Scot 

That  ever  yet  was  born." 

With  that  there  came  an  arrow  keen 

Out  of  an  English  bow, 
Which  struck  Earl  Douglas  to  the  heart, 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow ; 

Who  never  spake  more  words  than  these; 

"  Fight  on,  my  merry  men  all ; 
For  why,  my  life  is  at  an  end; 

Lord  Percy  sees  my  fall." 

Then  leaving  life.  Earl  Percy  took 
The  dead  man  by  the  hand ; 

And  said,  "  Earl  Douglas,  for  thy  life 
Would  I  had  lost  my  land! 

"  In  truth,  my  very  heart  doth  bleed 
With  sorrow  for  thy  sake; 

For  sure  a  more  redoubted  knight 
Mif?chance  did  never  take,'* 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

A  knight  amongst  the  Scots  there  was  TaUs 

Who  saw  Earl  Douglas  die,  °f  *^he 

Who  straight  in  wrath  did  vow  revenge  y"  '^^ 
Upon  the  Earl  Percy. 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery  was  he  called, 

Who,  with  a  spear  full  bright, 
Well  mounted  on  a  gallant  steed, 

Ran  fiercely  through  the  fight; 

And  past  the  English  archers  all, 

Without  a  dread  or  fear; 
And  through  Earl  Percy's  body  then 

He  thrust  his  hateful  spear; 

With  such  vehement  force  and  might 

He  did  his  body  gore. 
The  staff  ran  through  the  other  side 

A  large  cloth-yard  and  more. 

So  thus  did  both  these  nobles  die. 

Whose  courage  none  could  stain. 
An  English  archer  then  perceived 

The  noble  Earl  was  slain. 

He  had  a  bow  bent  in  his  hand, 

Made  of  a  trusty  tree; 

An  arrow  of  a  cloth-yard  long 

To  the  hard  head  haled  he. 
[589] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales  Against  Sir  Hugh  Montgomery 
of  the  So  j^ght  the  shaft  he  set, 

T'me  ^^&  gr^y  goose  wing  that  was  thereon 
e^  In  his  heart's  blood  was  wet. 


This  fight  did  last  from  break  of  day 

Till  setting  of  the  sun: 
For  when  they  rung  the  evening-bell, 

The  battle  scarce  was  done. 

With  stout  Earl  Percy  there  was  slain 

Sir  John  of  Egerton, 
Sir  Robert  RatclifF,  and  Sir  John, 

Sir  James,  that  bold  baron. 

And  with  Sir  George  and  stout  Sir  James, 
Both  knights  of  good  account, 

Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  there  was  slain. 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount. 

For  Witherington  needs  must  I  wail 

As  one  in  doleful  dumps; 
For  when  his  legs  were  smitten  off. 

He  fought  upon  his  stumps. 

And  with  Earl  Douglas  there  was  slain 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery, 
Sir  Charles  Murray,  that  from  the  field, 

One  foot  would  never  flee. 
[590] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sir  Charles  Murray  of  RatclifF,  too—  Tale» 

His  sister's  son  was  he ;  of  Ike 

Sir  David  Lamb,  so  well  esteemed,  ^J'!^^ 

But  saved  he  could  not  be.  '"*^ 

And  the  Lord  Maxwell  in  like  case 

Did  with  Earl  Douglas  die: 
Of  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears, 

Scarce  fifty-five  did  fly. 

Of  fifteen  hundred  Englishmen, 

Went  home  but  fifty -three ; 
The  rest  on  Chevy-Chace  were  slain, 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Next  day  did  many  widows  come, 

Their  husbands  to  bewail; 
They  washed  their  wounds  in  brinish  tears, 

But  all  would  not  prevail. 

Their  bodies,  bathed  in  purple  blood. 

They  bore  with  them  away ; 
They  kissed  them  dead  a  thousand  timesj 

Ere  they  were  clad  in  clay. 

The  news  was  brought  to  Edinburgh, 

Where  Scotland's  king  did  reign. 

That  brave  Earl  Douglas  suddenly 

Was  with  an  arrow  slain: 
[591] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales         "  Oh  heavy  news,"  King  James  did  saj ; 

of  the  a  Scotland  can  witness  be 

Olden  T  1  i  J.   • 

J,-  I  have  not  any  captain  more 

e^  Of  such  account  as  he." 


Like  tidings  to  King  Henry  came 

Within  as  short  a  space, 
That  Percy  of  Northumberland 

Was  slain  in  Chevy-Chace: 

"  Now  God  be  with  him,"  said  our  king, 

"  Since  'twill  no  better  be ; 
I  trust  I  have  within  my  realm 

Five  hundred  as  good  as  he: 

"  Yet  shall  not  Scots  or  Scotland  say 

But  I  will  vengeance  take: 
I'll  be  revenged  on  them  all. 

For  brave  Earl  Percy's  sake." 

This  vow  full  well  the  king  performed 

After  at  Humbledown; 
In  one  day  fifty  knights  were  slain, 

With  lords  of  high  renown; 

And  of  the  rest,  of  small  account, 

Did  many  hundreds  die: 

Thus  endeth  the  hunting  of  Chevy-Chace, 

Made  by  the  Earl  Percy. 
[592  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

God  save  tlie  king,  and  bless  tins  land,  Tales 

•    With  plenty,  joy  and  peace;  of  the 

And  grant,  henceforth,  that  foul  debate  ?('^^'" 

'Twixt  noblemen  may  cease !  '" 

Old  Ballad.  * 


Hynde  Horn 

"  Oh,  It's  Hynde  Horn  fair,  and  it's  Hynde  Horn 

free; 
Oh,  where  were  you  born,  and  in  what  countrie?  " 
"  In  a  far  distant  countrie  I  was  born ; 
But  of  home  and  friends  I  am  quite  forlorn." 

Oh,  it's  seven  long  years  he  served  the  king, 
But  wages  from  him  he  ne'er  got  a  thing: 
Oh,  it's  seven  long  years  he  served,  I  ween, 
And  all  for  love  of  the  king's  daughter  Jean» 

Oh,  he  gave  to  his  love  a  silver  wand, 
Her  sceptre  of  rule  over  fair  Scotland; 
With   three  singing  laverocks  set  thereon, 
For  to  mind  her  of  him  when  he  was  gone. 

And  his  love  gave  to  him  a  gay  gold  ring, 
With  three  shining  diamonds  set  therein; 
Oh,  his  love  gave  to  him  this  gay  gold  ring, 
Of  virtue  and  value  above  all  tiling ; 

[593] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Tales     Saying — "  While  the  diamonds  do  keep  their  hue, 
9f  the    You  will  know  that  my  love  holds  fast  and  true: 
Time     ^^^  when  the  diamonds  grow  pale  and  wan, 
I'll  be  dead,  or  wed  to  another  man." 


r 


Then  the  sails  were  spread,  and  away  sail'd  he ; 
Oh,  he  sail'd  away  to  a  far  countrie ; 
And  when  he  had  been  seven  years  to  sea, 
Hynde  Horn  look'd  to  see  how  his  ring  might  be. 

But  when  Hynde  Horn  look'd  the  diamonds  upon, 
Oh,  he  saw  that  they  were  both  pale  and  wan ; 
And  at  once  he  knew,  from  their  alter'd  hue, 
That  his  love  was  dead  or  had  proved  untrue. 

Oh,  the  sails  were  spread,  and  away  sail'd  he 
Back  over  the  sea  to  his  own  countrie; 
Then  he  left  the  ship  when  it  came  to  land, 
And  he  met  an  auld  beggar  upon  the  strand. 

''  What  news,  thou  auld  beggar  man?  "  said  he; 
"  For  full  seven  years  I've  been  over  the  sea." 
Then  the  auld  man  said — "  The  strangest  of  all 
Is  the  curious  wedding  in  our  king's  hall. 

"  For  there's  a  king's  daughter,  came  frae  the 

wast. 
Has  been  married  to  him  these  nine  days  past ; 
But  unto  him  a  wife  the  bride  winna  be. 
For  love  of  Hynde  Horn,  far  over  the  sea." 

[594] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  Now,  auld  man,  give  to  me  your  begging  weed,  Talet 

And  I  will  give  to  thee  my  riding  steed ;  "/  '^* 

And,  auld  man,  give  to  me  your  staff  of  tree,  y^- 
And  my  scarlet  cloak  I  will  give  to  thee.  ^ 

"  And  you  must  teach  me  the  auld  beggar's  role, 
As  he  goes  his  rounds,  and  receives  his  dole." 
The  auld  man  he  did  as  young  Hynde  Horn  said, 
And  taught  him  the  way  to  beg  for  his  bread. 

Then  Hynde  Horn  bent  him  to  his  staff  of  tree, 
And  to  the  king's  palace  away  hobbled  he ; 
And  when  he  arrived  at  the  king's  palace  gate. 
To  the  porter  he  thus  his  petition  did  state: 

"  Good  porter,  I  pray,  for  Saints  Peter  and  Paul, 
And  for  sake  of  the  Saviour  who  died  for  us  all. 
For  one  cup  of  wine,  and  one  bit  of  bread, 
To  an  auld  man  with  travel  and  hunger  bestead. 

"And  ask  the  fair  bride,  for  the  sake  of  Hynde 

Horn, 
To  hand  them  to  one  so  sadly  forlorn." 
Then  the  porter  for  pity  the  message  convey'd, 
And  told  the  fair  bride  all  the  beggar  man  said. 

And  when  she  did  hear  it,  she  tripp'd  down  the 

stair. 
And  in  her  fair  hands  did  lovingly  bear 

[595] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Tales    A  cup  of  red  wine,  and  a  farle  of  cake, 

0/  the    'Pq  gjyg  i\^Q  q](J  man,  for  loved  Hynde  Horn's 

Olden  1 

nr  saicc* 

lime 

'        And  when  she  came  to  where  Hynde  Horn  did 

stand. 
With  joy  he  did  take  the  cup  from  her  hand; 
Then  pledged  the  fair  bride,  the  cup  out  did 

drain, 
Dropp'd  in  it  the  ring,  and  return'd  it  again. 

"  Oh,  found  you  that  ring  by  sea  or  on  land. 
Or  got  you  that  ring  off  a  dead  man's  hand?  " 
*'  Oh,  I  found  not  that  ring  by  sea  or  on  land, 
But  I  got  that  ring  from  a  fair  lady's  hand. 

"As  a  pledge  of  true  loA^e  she  gave  it  to  me. 
Full  seven  years  ago,  as  I  sail'd  o'er  the  sea ; 
But  now  that  the  diamonds  are  chang'd  in  their 

hue, 
I  know  that  my  love  has  to  me  proved  untrue.** 

"  Oh,  I  will  cast  off  my  gay  costly  gown, 
And  follow  thee  on  from  town  unto  town, 
'And  I  will  take  the  gold  combs  from  my  hair^ 
And  follow  my  true  love  for  ever  mair." 

"  You  need  not  cast  off  your  gay  costly  gown, 
To  follow  me  on  from  town  unto  town ; 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

You  need  not  take  the  gold  combs  from  your     Tales 

hair,  of  tfie 

For  Hynde  Horn  has  gold  enough,  and  to  spare."     ,,,•  ^" 

He  stood  up  erect,  let  his  beggar  weed  fall,  ^^ 

And  shone  there  the  foremost  and  noblest  of  all : 
Then  the  bridegrooms  were  chang'd,  and  the  lady 

re-wed, 
To  Hynde  Horn  thus  come  back,  like  one  from 

the  dead. 

Old  Ballad. 

r 

Glenlogie 

There  was  monie  a  braw  noble 

Came  to  our  Queen's  ha' ; 
But  the  bonnie  Glenlogie 

Was  the  flower  of  them  a'. 
And  the  young  Ladye  Jeanie, 

Sae   gude   and  sae   fair, 
She  fancied  Glenlogie 

A  boon  a'  that  were  there. 

She  speired  at  his  footman, 

That  ran  by  his  side, 
His  name,  and  his  simame, 

And  where  he  did  bide. 
"  He  bides  at  Glenlogie, 

When  he  is  at  hame ; 
[597] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales  He's  of  the  gay  Gordons, 

of  ^^^  And  George  is  his  name." 

Olden 

Thne 

She  wrote  to  Glenlogie, 

To  tell  him  her  mind: 
"  My  love  is  laid  on  you, 

Oh,  will  you  prove  kind?'" 
He  turn'd  about  lightly. 

As  the  Gordons  do  a' : 
"  I  thank  you,  fair  Ladye, 

But  I'm  promis'd  awa." 

She  call'd  on  her  maidens 

Her  jewels  to  take. 
And  to  lay  her  in  bed, 

For  her  heart  it  did  break. 
*'  Glenlogie !    Glenlogie ! 

"  Glenlogie !  "  said  she ; 
*'  If  I  getna  Glenlogie, 

I'm  sure  I  will  dee." 

"  Oh,  hold  your  tongue,  danghtwf, 
And  weep  na  sae  sair; 

For  you'll  get  Drumfindlay, 
His  father's  young  heir." 

"  Oh,  hold  your  tongue,  father, 
And  let  me  alane ; 

If  I  getna  Glenlogie, 

I'll  never  wed  ane." 
[598] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Then  her  father's  old  chaplain—  y.^^, 

A  man  of  great  skill—  of  iL 

He  wrote  to  Glenlogic,  Olden 

The  cause  of  this  ill;  ^""* 

And  her  father,  he  sent  off  ^ 

This  letter  with  speed, 
By  a  trusty  retainer. 

Who  rode  his  best  steed. 

The  first  line  that  he  read, 

A  light  laugh  gave  he ; 
The  next  line  that  he  read, 

The  tear  fill'd  each  e'e: 
"Oh,  what  a  man  am  I, 

That  a  leal  heart  should  break? 
Or  that  sic  a  fair  maid 

Should  die  for  my  sake? 

'  Go,  saddle  my  horse, 

Go,  saddle  him  soon. 
Go,    saddle    the    swiftest 

E'er  rode  frae  the  toun." 
But  ere  it  was  saddled, 

And  brought  to  the  door, 
Glenlogie  was  on  the  road 

Three  miles  or  more. 

When  he  came  to  her  father's, 
Great  grief  there  was  there; 
[  599  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Tales  There  was  weepin'  and  wailing 

of  the  And  sabbin'  full  sair. 

rp.  Oh,  pale  and  wan  was  she 


r 


When  Glenlogie  gaed  in; 
But  she  grew  red  and  rosy 
When  Glenlogie  gaed  ben. 

Then  out  spake  her  father. 

With  tears  in  each  e'e: 
*'  You're  welcome,  Glenlogie, 

You're  welcome  to  me." 
And  out  spake  her  mother: 

"  You're  welcome,"  said  she ; 
"  You're   welcome,    Glenlogie, 

Your  Jcanie  to  see." 

"  Oh,  turn,  Ladye  Jeanie, 

Turn  round  to  this  side, 
And  I'll  be  the  bridegroom. 

And  you'll  be  the  bride." 
Oh,  it  was  a  blythe  wedding, 

As  ever  was  seen ; 
And  bonnie  Jeanie  Melville 

Was  scarcely  sixteen. 

Old  Balla»* 


(eooj 


(( 


INTERLEAVES 

Life  Lessons 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

Milton. 

**  Small  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts." 

Wordsworth. 

"  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  0  my  soul. 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll!  " 

Holmes. 

"  When  Duty  whispers  low  '  Thou  mu^t,' 
The  youth  replies,  '  /  can.*  " 

Emerson. 

"  Thou  must  be  true  thyself. 

If  thou  the  truth  wouldst  teach" 

BONAE. 

"  /  am  content  with  what  I  have. 
Little  be  it,  or  much." 

BUNYAN. 

**  As  one  lamp  lights  another,  nor  grows  less. 
So  nobleness  enkindleth  nobleness." 

LoWELIii 

**  Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  Thy  laws 
Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine." 

Herbert. 

'*  This  above  all — to  thine  own  self  be  true; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

Shakespeare. 


XVI 

1.IFE  LESSONS 

*'  ^  *■ 

Life 



-Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  u* 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 

Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time;— - 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another. 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing. 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing. 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfelloit, 
From  the  "  Psalm  of  Life.'' 


[601] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

j^lfg  In  a  Child'' s  Album 

Lessotis  gjy^all  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts ; 

Of  humblest  friends,  bright  creature !  scorn  not 

one; 
The  Daisy,  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts. 
Protects  the  lingering  dew-drop  from  the  sun. 

William  Wordsworth. 

r 

To-Dai/ 

So  here  hath  been  dawning 

Another  blue  day: 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Slip  useless  away. 

Out  of  Eternity 

This  new  day  was  bom; 

Into  Eternity, 

At  night,  will  return. 

Behold  it  aforetime 

No  eye  ever  did; 
So  soon  it  for  ever 

From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Here  hath  been  daw^nlng 

Another  blue  day: 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Slip  useless  away. 

Thomas  Carlyle. 

[  602  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Noble  Nature  jjje 

-r,   •  .  .        ,.,  Lesson* 

It  IS  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk  doth  make  Man  better  be ;  * 

Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 

To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere: 

A  lily  of  a  day 

Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night, — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light: 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see, 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

Ben  Jonson. 

r 

Forbearance 

Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun? 

Loved  the  wood-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk? 

At  rich  men's  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse? 

Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust? 

And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 

In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained, 

Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay? 

O,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine! 

Ralph  Waldo  EMKasoji. 


[60S] 


Life 
Lessons 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 
^  Sails  the  unshadowed  main, — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings. 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare. 
Where    the    cold    sea-maids    rise    to    sun    their 
streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell. 

Before  thee  lies  revealed, — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed ! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 
That  spread  his  lustrous  coil; 
Still,  as  the  spiral  grew. 

He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new. 

Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through. 
Built  up  Its  idle  door. 

Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the 
old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by 

thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 
[604] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn!  [JA 

From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  bom  Lestom 

Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn !  5? 

Whi]''    A  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep   caves  of  thought  I  hear  a 
voice  that  sings: — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul. 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last. 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
r<eaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unrest- 


ing sea! 


Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


Duti/ 

So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 

So  near  is  God  to  man ; 
When  Duty  whispers  low  "  Thdu  must,' 

The  youth  replies,  "  I  can." 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


>» 


[606] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life  On  His  Blindness 

^       When  I  consider  how  my  Hght  is  spent 
•  Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and 

wide, 
And  that  one  Talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  Soul  more 
bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide, — 
Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied, 
I  fondly  ask: — But  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  3^oke,  they  serve  Him  best:  His 
State 
Is  Kingly ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  Land  and  Ocean  without  rest : — - 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

John  Milton. 

r 

Sir  Launfal  and  the  Leper 

As  Sir  Launfal  made  mom  through  the  dark* 
some  gate, 
He  was  ware  of  a  leper,  crouched  by  the  same. 
Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  Iw 
I  sate ; 

And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came; 

[606] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill,      Life 
The   flesh   'neath   his   armor  did  shrink   and  J^^'on* 
crawl,  j^ 

And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall; 
For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature, 
Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature, 
And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer  morn, — 
So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 

The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust: 
"  Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust, 
Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door: 
That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold; 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty ; 
But  he  who  gives  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite, — 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 
The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms. 
For  a  god  goes  with  It  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  be- 
fore." 

James  Russell,  Lowell. 
From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal." 

[607] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life  Opportunity 

LessoTis 

This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream: — 

There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  a  plain; 

And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 

A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 

Shocked  upon   swords  and  shields.     A  prince's 

banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed  by 

foes. 
A  craven  hung  along  the  battle's  edge, 
And  thought,  "  Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel — 
That  blue  blade  that  the  king's  son  bears, — but 

this 
Blunt  thing !  "  he  snapt  and  flung  it  from  his 

hand. 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 
Then  came  the  king's  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead, 
And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand. 
And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle-shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down. 
And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


feoB] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  and  the  Angel  Ufe 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!)  ^ 

Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace,         * 
And  saw,  within  the  moonhght  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  hly  in  bloom. 
An  Angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold : — 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold. 
And  to  the  Presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"  What  writest  thou  ?  " — The  Vision  raised  its 

head. 
And  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord 
Answered,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love  the 

Lord." 
"  And  Is  mine  one?  "  said  Abou.    "  Nay,  not  so," 
Replied  the  Angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low. 
But  cheerily  still,  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee,  then, 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow  men." 

The  Angel  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  night 
It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light. 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had 

blessed. 
And,  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


1  6UJ*  J 


Life 
lessons 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Be  True 

Thou  must  be  true  thyself, 

If  thou  the  truth  wouldst  teach; 

Thy  soul  must  overflow,  if  thou 
Another's  soul  wouldst  reach! 

It  needs  the  overflow  of  heart 
To  give  the  lips  full  speech. 

Think  truly,  and  thy  thoughts 
Shall  the  world's  famine  feed; 

Speak  truly,  and  each  word  of  thine 
Shall  be  a  fruitful  seed; 

Live  truly,  and  thy  life  shall  be 
A  great  and  noble  creed. 

Horatio  Bonak. 

r 


The  Shepherd  Boy  Sings  in  the  Valley  of 
Humiliation 

He  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low,  no  pride ; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 

Little  be  it  or  much : 
And,  Lord,  contentment  still  I  cravej 

Because  Thou  savest  such, 
reio] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Fullness  to  such  a  burden  is  ;;/> 

That  go  on  pilgrimage:  l-ts.vjtu 

Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss,  <f 

Is  best  from  age  to  age, 

John  Bunyan. 


A   Turkish  Legend 

A  certain  pasha,  dead  five  thousand  years, 
Once  from  his  harem  fled  in  sudden  tears, 

And  had  this  sentence  on  the  city's  gate 
Deeply  engraven,  "  Only  God  is  great." 

So  these  four  words  above  the  city's  noise 
Hung  like  the  accents  of  an  angel's  voice. 

And  evermore  from  the  high  barbican, 
Saluted  each  returning  caravan. 

Lost  is  that  city's  glory.     Every  gust 

Lifts,   with   crisp   leaves,   the  unknown   pasha's 

I  dust. 

And  all  is  ruin,  save  one  wrinkled  gate 
Whereon  is  vntten,  "  Only  God  is  great." 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldeich. 


1 3a] 


r 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Lifi  Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard 

LessoTis  /.  •         1 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 

And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now    fades    the    glimmering   landscape   on   the 
sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 
Save  where  the  heetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 

And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds : 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tow'r. 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wand'ring  near  her  secret  bow'r. 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath    those    rugged    elms,    that    yew-tree's 
shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring 
heap. 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid. 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  Incense-breathing  mom. 
The  swallow  twitt'ring  from  the  straw-built 
shed, 


GOLDEN   NtjMBERS 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn,         Life 
No  more  shall  rouse  them   from  their  lowly   ^-''Aom 
bed.  ^ 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care : 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield. 

Their    furrow    oft    the    stubborn    glebe    has 
broke : 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield! 
How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy 
stroke ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  pow'r. 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

A-wait  alike  th'  inevitable  hour — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 

If  Mem'ry  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 
Where  tlirough  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted 
vault. 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

[613] 


JjCsso, 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Ufe      Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 
^        Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 

Or  Flatt'ry  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 

Hands,    that    the    rod    of    empire    might    have 
sway'd, 
Or  wak'd  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page. 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 

Chill  Penury  repress'd  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear: 

Full  many  a  flower  is  bom  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some    village    Hampden,    that    with    dauntless 
breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 
Some  mute  ingloi-ious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some    Cromwell    guiltless    of    his    country's 
blood. 

Th'  applause  of  list'ning  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

[614] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land,  Life 

And  read  their  hist'ry  in  a  nation's  eyes —         Lessom 

Their  lot  forbade:  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  con- 
fined; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray; 

Along  the  cool  sequester'd  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  ev'n  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth   rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture 
deck'd, 

Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unletter'd 
Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply: 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews. 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  tc 

f  615] 


CO  die. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life      For  who,  to  dumb  Forget  fulness  a  prey. 
Lessons        This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resign'd, 
^        Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 

Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring  look  behind? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires; 

E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  whoy  mindful  of  th'  unhonour'd  dead. 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate; 

If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate. 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 
"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

"  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

**  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scora, 
Mutt'ring  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove; 

Now  drooping,  woful-wan,  like  one  forlorn. 
Or  craz'd  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love. 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

"  One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  custom'd  liill,  Ufc 

Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  fav'rite  tree;  I^'fxnns 

Anothei'  came ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill,  '^ 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he : 

"  The  next,  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array, 

Slow   through  the  church-way  path  we  saw 
him  borne. — 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the 
lay 
Grav'd  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

THE   EPITAPH 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth 
A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown; 

Fair  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth. 
And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere. 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send: 

He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear. 

He  gain'd  from  Heaven  {'t  was  all  he  tcw/i'd) 
a  friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose. 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

Thomas  Grat. 

[617] 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Lifg  Polonius  to  Laertes 

Lessons 

And  these  few  precepts  in  thj  memory 

Look   thou   character.      Give   thj   thoughts   no 

tongue 
Ti'or  any  unproportion'd  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  f amihar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar  • 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried. 
Grapple    them    to    thy    soul    with    hoops    of 

steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatch'd,  unfledg'd  comrade.     Be- 
ware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel;  but,  being  in, 
Bear't,  that  th'  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 
Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice; 
Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judg- 
ment. 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 
But  not  express'd  in  fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy: 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man; 
And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  sta- 
tion, 
Are   of  a  most  select   and   generous   choice  In 

that. 
Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be; 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend, 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 
This  above  all, — to  thine  own  self  be  true; 

[618  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  It  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day,  IJfe 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man.  lycssonk 

William  Shakespeari.  ^ 
From  "  Hamlet" 


The  Olive  Tree 

Said  an  ancient  hermit,  bcndinsr 
Half  in  prayer  upon  his  knee, 

"  Oil  I  need  for  midnight  watching, 
I  desire  an  olive  tree." 

Then  he  took  a  tender  sapling, 
Planted  it  before  his  cave, 

Spread  his  trembling  hands  above  it, 
As  his  benison  he  save. 


»"■ 


But  he  thought,  the  rain  it  needeth, 
That  the  root  may  drink  and  swell ; 

"  God !  I  pray  Thee  send  Thy  showers ! " 
So  a  gentle  shower  fell. 

''  Lord,  I  ask  for  beams  of  summer, 
Cherishing  this  little  child." 

Then  the  dripping  clouds  divided, 
And  the  sun  looked  down  and  smiled. 

"  Send  it  frost  to  brace  its  tissues, 
O  my  God  !  "  the  hermit  cried. 
I  619  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life  Then  the  plant  was  bright  and  hoarjj 

Lessons  ^ni  at  evensong  it  died. 

'  Went  the  hermit  to  a  brother 

Sitting  in  his  rocky  cell: 
"  Thou  an  olive  tree  possessest; 
How  is  this,  my  brother,  tell? 

"  I  have  planted  one,  and  prayed, 
Now  for  sunshine,  now  for  rain; 

God  hath  granted  each  petition. 
Yet  my  olive  tree  hath  slain ! " 

Said  the  other,  "  I  entrusted 
To  its  God  my  little  tree; 

He  who  made  knew  what  it  needed, 
Better  than  a  man  like  me. 

"  Laid  I  on  him  no  condition. 
Fixed  no  ways  and  means ;  so  I 

Wonder  not  my  olive  thriveth. 
Whilst  thy  olive  tree  did  die, 

Sabine  Baking-Gould. 


5) 


Coronation 

At  the  king's  gate  the  subtle  noon 
Wove  filmy  yellow  nets  of  sun ; 

Into  the  drowsy  snare  too  soon 
The  guards  fell  one  by  one. 

r  620  1 


I 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Through  the  king's  gate,  unquestioned  then,  life 

A  beggar  went,  and  laughed,  "  This  brings  l^»son» 

Me  chance,  at  last,  to  see  if  men  2^ 

Fare  better,  being  kings." 

The  king  sat  bowed  beneath  his  crown, 

Propping  his  face  with  listless  hand; 
Watching  the  hour-glass  sifting  down 

Too  slow  its  shining  sand. 

"Poor  man,  what  wouldst  thou  have  of  me?** 

The  beggar  turned,  and  pitying. 
Replied,  like  one  in  dream,  "  Of  thee, 

Nothing.     I  want  the  king." 

Uprose  the  king,  and  from  his  head 

Shook  off  the  crown,  and  threw  it  b3\ 
"  O  man !  thou  must  have  known,"  he  said, 

"  A  greater  king  than  I." 

Through  all  the  gates,  unquestioned  then, 

Went  king  and  beggar  hand  in  hand. 
Whispered  the  king,  "  Shall  I  know  when 

Before  his  throne  I  stand.''" 

The  beggar  laughed.     Free  winds  in  haste 
Were  wiping  from  the  king's  hot  brow 

The  crimson  lines  the  crown  had  traced- 
"  This  is  his  presence  now." 

[621] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Idfe      At  the  king's  gate,  the  craftj  noon 
etsons        Unwove  its  yellow  nets  of  sun; 
(jf        Out  of  their  sleep  in  terror  soon 
The  guards  viaked  one  by  one 

"  Ho  there !     Ho  there !     Has  no  man  seen 
The  king?  "     The  cry  ran  to  and  fro; 

Beggar  and  king,  they  laughed,  I  ween, 
The  laugh  that  free  men  know. 

On  the  king's  gate  the  moss  grew  gray; 

The  king  came  not.     They  called  him  dead; 
And  made  his  eldest  son  one  day 

Slave  in  his  father's  stead. 


December 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 

Too  happy,  happy  tree. 
Thy  branches  ne'er  remember 

Their  green  felicity: 
The  north  cannot  undo  them, 
With  a  sleety  whistle  through  them; 
Nor  frozen  thawings  glue  them 

From  budding  at  the  prime. 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 
Too  happy,  happy  brook, 
[622] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Thy  bubblings  ne'er  remember  JJfe 

Apollo's  summer  look;  Lessoiu 

But  with  a  sweet  forgetting,  5^ 

They  stay  their  crystal  fretting, 

Never,  never  petting 
About  the  frozen  time. 

Ah!  would  'twere  so  with  many 

A  gentle  girl  and  boy ! 
But  were  there  ever  any 

Writhed  not  at  passed  j  oy  ? 
To  know  the  change  and  feel  it, 
When  there  is  none  to  heal  it, 
Nor  numbed  sense  to  steal  it. 

Was  never  said  in  rhyme. 

John  Keats. 


The  End  of  the  Flay 

The  play  is  done ;  the  curtain  drops, 

Slow  falling  to  the  prompter's  bell: 
A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops, 

And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task  ; 

And,  when  he's  laughed  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 

A  face  that's  anything  but  gay. 

r  623  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

JJfe  One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends, 

Lessons  Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 

^  And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends. 

As  fits  the  merry  Christmas  time. 
On  life's  wide  scenes  you,  too,  have  parts, 
That  Fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play ; 
Good-night !  with  honest  gentle  hearts 
A  kindly  greeting  go  alway  ! 

•  •  •  •  • 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young*  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 
Who  misses,  or  who  wins  the  prize? 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can : 
But  if  3^ou  fail,  or  if  you  rise. 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young ! 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays;) 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days : 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead — 

The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then : 
Glory  to  Heaven  on  high,  it  said. 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men. 

My  song,  save  this.  Is  little  worth ; 
I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 
[6241 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth,  Ufe 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide.  Lessons 

\s  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth,  jP 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still — 
Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 
To  men  of  gentle  will. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 
From  "  Dr.  Birch  and  his  Young  Friends.'* 


A  Farewell 

My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to  give  you ; 
No  lark  could  pipe  to  skies  so  dull  and  gray ; 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  one  lesson  I  can  leave  you 
For  every  day. 

Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever ; 
Do   noble   things,   not  dream   them,   all   day 
long: 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  forever 
One  grand,  sweet  song. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

r 


ISitl 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life  A  Boy's  Prayer 

Lessons 

toi  God  who  created  me 

Nimble  and  light  of  limb, 
In  three  elements  free, 

To  run,  to  ride,  to  swim: 
Not  when  the  sense  is  dim, 

But  now  from  the  heart  of  joy, 
I  would  remember  Him : 

Take  the  thanks  of  a  boy. 

s  •  •  •  * 

Henry  Charles  Beechin» 

r 

Chartless 

I  never  saw  a  moor, 

I  never  saw  the  sea; 

Yet  know  I  how  the  heather  looks. 

And  what  a  wave  must  be. 

I  never  spoke  with  God, 
Nor  visited  in  heaven; 
Yet  certain  am  I  of  the  spot 
As  if  the  chart  were  given. 

Emily  DKJKiNSOiTtf 

r 


L.  620.  J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Peace  Jjfe 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country, 

Afar  beyond  the  stars,  * 

Where  stands  a  winged  sentry, 

All  skilful  in  the  wars. 
There,  above  noise  and  danger, 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles, 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files. 
He  is  thy  gracious  friend, 

And  (O  my  soul,  awake!) 
Did  in  pure  love  descend. 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 

If  thou  canst  get  but  thither. 

There  grows  the  flower  of  peaoe, 
The  rose  that  cannot  wither, 

Thy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 
Leave  then  thy  foolish  ranges; 

For  none  can  thee  secure. 
But  One  who  never  changes. 

Thy  God,  thy  Life,  thy  Cure. 

Henry  Vaugha»> 


[627  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life  Consider 

LcMonx 

to  Consider 

The  lilies  of  the  field,  whose  bloom  is  brief-^ 

We  are  as  they ; 

Like  them  we  fade  away, 

As  doth  a  leaf. 

Consider 
The  sparrows  of  the  air,  of  small  account: 
Our  God  doth  view 
Whether  they  fall  or  mount — 
He  guards  us  too. 

Consider 
The  lilies,  that  do  neither  spin  nor  toil, 
Yet  are  most  fair — 
What  profits  all  this  care, 
And  all  this  coil.'' 

Consider 
The  birds,  that  have  no  bara  nor  harvest-weeks; 
God  gives  them  food — 
Much  more  our  Father  seeks 
To  do  us  good. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


(6381 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Elixir  life 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King, 

In  all  things  Thee  to  see,  * 

And  what  I  do  in  anything, 

To  do  it  as  for  Thee. 


All  may  of  Thee  partake: 

Nothing  can  be  so  mean 
Which  with  this  tincture  (for  Thy  sake) 

Will  not  grow  bright  and  clean. 

A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  drudgery  divine: 
Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  Thy  laws. 

Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 

This  is  the  famous  stone 

That  turneth  all  to  gold; 
For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  owe 

Cannot  for  less  be  told. 

George  Heebekt. 


One  hy  One 

One  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing, 
One  by  one  the  moments  fall ; 

Some  are  coming,  some  are  going; 
Do  not  strive  to  grasp  them  all. 
f  629  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 


Life  One  by  one  thy  duties  wait  thee — 

Lessojit  j^g^  ^Yiy  whole  strength  go  to  each, 

<^  Let  no  future  dreams  elate  thee, 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

One  by  one  (bright  gifts  from  heaven) 
Joys  are  sent  thee  here  below ; 

Take  them  readily  when  given — 
Ready,  too,  to  let  them  go. 

One  by  one  thy  griefs  shall  meet  thee; 

Do  not  fear  an  armed  band ; 
One  will  fade  as  others  greet  thee — 

Shadows  passing  through  the  land. 

Do  not  look  at  life's  long  sorrow; 

See  how  small  each  moment's  pain; 
God  will  help  thee  for  to-morrow, 

So  each  day  begin  again. 

Every  hour  that  fleets  so  slowly 
Has  its  task  to  do  or  bear; 

Luminous  the  ci'own,  and  holy, 
When  each  gem  is  set  with  care. 

Do  not  linger  with  regretting. 
Or  for  passing  hours  despond; 

Nor,  thy  daily  toil  forgetting. 
Look  too  eagerly  beyond. 
[630  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Hours  are  golden  links,  God's  token,  IJfe 

Reaching  heaven;  but,  one  by  one,  lA;sson 

Take  them,  lest  the  chain  be  broken  ^ 

Ere  the  pilgrimage  be  done. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 

r 

The  Commomvealth  of  the  Bees 
(Type  of  a  Well-ordered  State.) 

For   government,    though   high,    and   low,   and 

lower, 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  consent, 
Congreeing  in  a  full  and  natural  close, 
Like  music. 

Therefore  doth  heaven  divide 
The  state  of  man  in  divers  functions. 
Setting  endeavor  in  continual  motion ; 
To  which  is  fixed,  as  an  aim  or  butt. 
Obedience ;  for  so  work  the  honey-bees. 
Creatures  that,  by  a  rule  in  nature,  teach 
The  art  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom : 
They  have  a  king  and  officers  of  state, 
Where  some,  like  magistrates,  correct  at  home. 
Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad, 
Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings. 
Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buds ; 
Which   pillage   they   with  merry   march  bring 

home 

resu 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Life      To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor ; 
Lessons  \Yho,  busied  in  his  majesty,  surveys 

^       The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold, 
The  civil  citizens  kneading  up  the  honey, 
The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in 
Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  narrow  gate; 
The  sad-eyed  Justice,  with  his  surly  hum, 
Delivering  o'er  to  executors  pale 
The  lazy,  yawning  drone. 

William  Shakespeare. 
From  "  King  Henry  V," 


The  Pilgrim 

Who  would  true  valor  see 

Let  him  come  hither! 
One  here  will  constant  be, 

Come  wind,  come  weather: 
There's  no  discouragement 
Shall  make  him  once  relent 
His  first-avow'd  intent 
To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

Whoso  beset  him  round 
With  dismal  stories. 

Do  but  themselves  confound ; 
His  strength  the  more  is. 
f6S93 


i^ 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

No  lion  can  hini  fright ;  ^^^-^ 

He'll  with  a  giant  fight ;  Ussvi^ 

But  he  will  have  a  right 
To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

Nor  enemy,  nor  fiend, 

Can  daunt  his  spirit; 
He  knows  he  at  the  end 

Shall  Life  inherit: — 
Then,  fancies,  fly  away; 
He'll  not  fear  what  men  say; 
He'll  labor,  night  and  day, 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

John  Bunyan. 


Be  Useful 

Be  useful  where  thou  livest,  that  they  may 
Both  want  and  wish  thy  pleasing  presence  still. 

Find  out  men's  wants  and  will, 

And  meet  them  there.     All  worldly  joys  go  less 
To  the  one  joy  of  doing  kindnesses. 

GeORGK  HEEBEfiT 


1[633] 


INTERLEAVES 

The  Glad  Evangel 

Whe  I  the  Child  of  Nazareth  was  born,  the  sun,  according 
to  the  Bosnian  legend,  "  leayed  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
stars  around  it  danced.  A  peace  came  orrr  mountain 
and  forest.  Even  the  rotten  stump  stood  straight  and 
healthy  on  the  green  hillside.  The  grass  ivas  bc- 
flowered  uith  open  blossoms,  incense  sweet  as  mi/rrh  per- 
vaded upland  and  forest,  birds  sang  on  the  mountain 
top,  and  all  gave  thanks  to  the  great  God." 
It  is  naught  but  an  old  folk-talc,  but  it  has  truth  hidden 
at  its  heart,  for  a  strange^  subtle  force,  a  spirit  of  geni/il 
good-will,  a  new-born  kindness,  seem  to  animate  child 
and  man  alike  when  the  world  pays  its  tribute  to  the 
"  heaven-sent  youngling,"  as  the  poet  Drummond  calls 
the  infant  Christ. 

When  the  Three  Wise  Men  rode  from  the  East  into  the 
West  on  that  "  first,  best  Christmas  night,"  they  bore 
on  their  saddle-bows  three  caskets  filled  with  gold  and 
frankincense  and  myrrh,  to  be  laid  at  the  feet  of  the 
manger-cradled  babe  of  Bethlehem.  Beginning  with 
this  old,  old  journey,  the  spirit  of  giving  crept  into  the 
•world's  heart.  As  the  Magi  came  bearing  gifts,  so  do 
we  also;  gifts  that  relieve  want,  gifts  that  are  sweet  and 
fragrant  with  friendship,  gifts  that  breathe  love,  gifts 
that  mean  service,  gifts  inspired  still  by  the  star  that 
shone  over  the  City  of  David  nearly  two  thousand  years 
ago. 

Then  hang  the  green  coronet  of  the  Christmas-tree  with 
glittering  baubles  and  jewels  of  fame;  heap  offerings 
on  its  emerald  branches;  bring  the  Yule  log  to  the  fir- 
ing; deck  the  house  with  holly  and  mistletoe, 

♦'  And  all  the  hells  on  earth  shall  rinfj 

On  Christmas  da^  v:  the  morning." 


XVII 
THE   GLAD   EVANGET, 

r    r 

A   Christmas  Carol  * 
There's  a  song  in  the  air ! 
There's  a  star  in  the  sky ! 
There's  a  mother's  deep  prayer 
And  a  baby's  low  cry ! 
And  the  star  rains  its  fire  while  the  Beautiful 

sing, 
For  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  cradles  a  king. 

There's  a  tumult  of  joy 

O'er  the  wonderful  birth, 

For  the  virgin's  sweet  boy 

Is  the  Lord  of  the  earth, 
Ay!   the  star  rains   its   fire  and  the  Beautiful 

sing, 
For  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  cradles  a  king! 

In  the  light  of  that  star 

Lie  the  ages  impearled ; 

And  that  song  from  afar 

Has  swept  over  the  world. 

*  From  "■  The  Poetical  Works  of  J.  O.  Holland.''    Copy- 
right, 18S1,  hy  Charles  Scribners  Sons. 

[635] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      Every  hearth  is  aflame,  and  the  Beautiful  sing 
hlad     jrj  the  homes  of  the  nations  that  Jesus  is  king. 


Evangel 


We  rejoice  in  the  hght, 
And  we  echo  the  song 
That  comes  down  through  the  night 
From  the  heavenly  throng. 
Ay !  we  shout  to  the  lovely  evangel  they  bring, 
And  we   greet   in  his   cradle   our    Saviour   and 
King ! 

JosiAH  Gilbert  Holland. 

The  Angels 

Hun,  shepherds,  run  where  Bethlehem  blest  ap- 
pears. 
We  bring  the  best  of  news;  be  not  dismayed: 
A  Saviour  there  is  born  more  old  than  years, 
Amidst  heaven's  rolling  height  this  earth  who 

stayed. 
In  a  poor  cottage  inned,  a  virgin  maid, 
A  weakling  did  him  bear,  who  all  upbears ; 
There  is  he  poorly  swaddled,  in  manger  laid. 
To  whom  too  narrow  swaddlings  are  our  spheres : 
Run,  shepherds,  iim,  and  solenmize  his  birth.        I 
This  is  that  night — no,  day,  grown  great  with 

bliss. 
In  which  the  power  of  Satan  broken  is: 
In  heaven  be  glory,  peace  unto  the  earth ! 

[  636  1 


GOLDEN   NUiMBEUS 

Thus  singing,  through  the  air  the  angels  swam,  The 

And  cope  of  stars  re-echoed  the  same.  ^'If^i 

William  Drumaxond.  ^'''"'^"'' 


*'  While  Shepherds  Watched  Their  Flocks  hy 

Night  " 

Like  small  curled  feathers,  white  and  soft. 

The  little  clouds  went  by, 
Across  the  moon,  and  past  the  stars, 

And  down  the  western  sky: 
In  upland  pastures,  where  the  grass 

With  frosted  dew  was  white. 
Like  snowy  clouds  the  young  sheep  lay, 

That  first,  best  Christmas  night. 

The  shepherds  slept;  and,  glimmering  faint. 

With  twist  of  thin,  blue  smoke, 
Only  their  fire's  crackling  flames 

The  tender  silence  broke — 
Save  when  a  young  lamb  raised  his  head. 

Or,  when  the  night  wind  blew, 
A  nesting  bird  would  softly  stir, 

Where  dusky  olives  grew — 

With  finger  on  her  solemn  lip, 

Night  hushed  the  shadowy  earth, 

And  only  stars  and  angels  saw 
The  little  Saviour's  birth; 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Then  came  such  flash  of  silver  light 

Glad  Across  the  bending  skies, 

The  wondering  shepherds  woke,  and  hid 
T  Their  frightened,  dazzled  eyes! 

And  all  their  gentle  sleepy  flock 

Looked  up,  then  slept  again. 
Nor  knew  the  light  that  dimmed  the  stars 

Brought  endless  Peace  to  men — 
Nor  even  heard  the  gracious  words 

That  down  the  ages  ring — 
"  The  Christ  is  born !  the  Lord  has  come, 

Good-will  on  earth  to  bring !  " 

Then  o'er  the  moonlit,  misty  fields. 

Dumb  with  the  world's  great  joy. 
The  shepherds  sought  the  white-walled  town, 

Where  lay  the  baby  boy — 
And  oh,  the  gladness  of  the  world. 

The  glory  of  the  skies, 
Because  the  longed-for  Christ  looked  up 

In  Mary's  happy  eyes! 

Margaret  Deland. 


The  Star  Song 

Tell  us,  thou  clear  and  heavenly  tongue. 
Where  is  the  Babe  but  lately  sprung? 
Lies  he  the  lily -banks  among? 

[638  J 


GOLDEN    NmiBERS 

Or  saj,  if  this  new  Birth  of  ours  The 

Sleeps,  laid  within  some  ark  of  flowers,  ^'^'"^ 

Spangled  with  dew-light;  thou  canst  dear  ^^''""«'' 

All  doubts,  and  manifest  the  where.  ^ 

Declare  to  us,  bright  star,  if  we  shall  seek 
Him  in  the  morning's  blushing  cheek, 
Or  search  the  beds  of  spices  through, 
To  find  him  out? 

Star. — No,  this  ye  need  not  do; 
But  only  come  and  see  Him  rest, 
A  princely  babe,  in's  mother's  breast. 

Robert  Herrick. 


Hymn  for  Christmas 
Oh!  lovely  voices  of  the  sky 

Which  hymned  the  Saviour's  birth, 
Are  ye  not  singing  still  on  high. 
Ye  that  sang,  "  Peace  on  earth  "  ? 
To  us  yet  speak  the  strains 

Wherewith,  in  time  gone  by, 
Ye  blessed  the  Syrian  swains. 
Oh !  voices  of  the  sky ! 

Oh!  clear  and  shining  light,  whose  beams 
That  hour  Heaven's  glory  shed, 

Around  the  palms,  and  o'er  the  streams, 
And  on  the  shepherd's  head. 
[639] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

TJie  Be  near,  through  Hfe  and  death, 

^^^^  J  As  in  that  hohest  night 

Of  hope,  and  joy,  and  faith — 
V  Oh!  clear  and  shining  hght! 

•  •  •  •  •  o 

Felicia  Hemans. 


Evangel 


New  Prince,  New  Pomp 

Behold  a  simple,  tender  Babe, 
In  freezing  winter  night. 

In  homely  manger  trembling  lies ; 
Alas !  a  piteous  sight. 

The  inns  are  full ;  no  man  will  yield 

This  little  Pilgrim  bed ; 
But  forced  he  is  with  silly  beasts 

In  crib  to  shroud  his  head. 

Despise  him  not  for  lying  there ; 

First  what  he  is  inquire: 
An  Orient  pearl  is  often  found 

In  depth  of  dirty  mire. 

Weigh  not  his  crib,  his  wooden  dish, 
Nor  beasts  that  by  him  feed ; 

Weigh  not  his  mother's  poor  attire, 
Nor  Joseph's  simple  weed. 
[  640  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

This  stable  is  a  Prince's  court,  The 

The  crib  his  chair  of  state;  ('lod 

The  beasts  are  parcel  of  his  pomp,  ^i'«"/,W 

The  wooden  dish  his  plate.  jf 

The  persons  in  that  poor  attire 

His  royal  liveries  wear; 
The  Prince  himself  is  come  from  heaven: 

This  pomp  is  praised  there. 

With  joy  approach,  O  Christian  wight! 

Do  homage  to  thy  King; 
And  highly  praise  this  humble  pomp, 

Which  he  from  heaven  doth  bring. 

Robert  Southwell. 


The  Three  Kings 

Three  Kings  came  riding  from  far  away, 

Melchior  and  Gaspar  and  Baltasar; 
Three  Wise  Men  out  of  the  East  were  they, 
And  they  travelled  by  night  and  they  slept  by 
day. 
For  their  guide  was  a  beautiful,  wonderful 
star. 

The  star  was  so  beautiful,  large  and  clear, 

That  all  the  other  stars  of  the  sky 
Became  a  white  mist  in  the  atmospheres 

[641] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      And  by  this  they  knew  that  the  coming  was  near 
Gfad  Qf  |-]^g  Prince  foretold  in  the  propliecy. 


F^iangel 


Three  caskets  they  bore  on  their  saddle-bowsj 

Three  caskets  of  gold  with  golden  keys; 
Their  robes  v^ere  of  crimson  silk,  with  rows 
Of  bells  and  pomegranates  and  furbelows, 
Their  turbans  like  blossoming  almond-trees. 

And  so  the  Three  Kings  rode  into  the  West, 
Through  the  dusk   of   night  over  hills   and 
dells, 
And  sometimes  they  nodded  with  beard  on  breast. 
And  sometimes  talked,  as  they  paused  to  rest, 
With  the  people  they  met  at  the  wayside  wells. 

"  Of  the  child  that  is  born,"  said  Baltasar, 

"  Good  people,  I  pray  you,  tell  us  the  news ; 
For  we  in  the  East  have  seen  his  star. 
And  have  ridden  fast,  and  have  ridden  far. 
To  find  and  worship  the  King  of  the  Jews. 


>» 


And  the  people  answered,  "  You  ask  in  vain ; 

We  know  of  no  king  but  Herod  the  Great !  " 
They  thought  the  Wise  IMen  were  men  insane. 
As  they  spurred  their  horses  across  the  plain 

Like  riders  in  haste  who  cannot  wait. 

And  when  they  came  to  Jerusalem, 

Herod  the  Great,  who  had  heard  this  thing, 

[642] 


J 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Sent  for  the  Wise  Men  and  questioned  them ;  The 

And  said,  "  Go  down  unto  Bethlehem,  ^'/«'/ 

And  bring  me  tidings  of  this  new  kinc"  f'-'^ngcl 

r     * 
So  they  rode  away,  and  the  star  stood  still, 

The  only  one  in  the  gray  of  morn ; 
Yes,  it  stopped,  it  stood  still  of  its  own  free  will, 
Right  over  Bethlehem  on  the  hill, 

The  city  of  David  where  Christ  was  born. 

And  the  Three  Kings  rode  through  the  gate  and 
the  guard, 
Through    the    silent    street,   till   their   horses 
turned 
And  neighed  as  they  entered  the  great  inn-yard ; 
But  the  windows  were  closed,  and  the  doors  were 
barred. 
And  only  a  light  in  the  stable  burned. 

And  cradled  there  in  the  scented  ha^', 

In  the  air  made  sweet  by  the  breath  of  kine. 

The  little  child  in  the  manger  lay. 

The  Child  that  would  be  King  one  day 
Of  a  kingdom  not  human,  but  divine. 

His  mother,  Mary  of  Naz;arcth, 

Sat  watching  beside  his  place  of  rest. 
Watching  the  even  flow  of  his  breath, 
For  the  joy  of  life  and  the  terror  of  death 

Were  mingled  together  in  her  breast. 

[643] 


GOLDEN  NUMBERS 

The      They  laid  their  offerings  at  his  feet : 
Glad  'pijg  g(jj(j  ^,J^g  their  tribute  to  a  King; 

'^      The  frankincense,  with  its  odor  sweet, 
▼         Was  for  the  Priest,  the  Paraclete ; 

The  myrrh  for  the  body's  burying. 

And  the  mother  wondered  and  bowed  her  head, 

And  sat  as  still  as  a  statue  of  stone ; 
Her  heart  was  troubled  yet  comforted. 
Remembering  what  the  angel  had  said 

Of  an  endless  reign  and  of  David's  throne. 

Then  the  Kings  rode  out  of  the  city  gate. 
With  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  proud  array ; 
But  they  went  not  back  to  Herod  the  Great, 
For  they  knew  his  malice  and  feared  his  hate. 
And  returned  to  their  homes  by  another  way. 
Heney  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


The  Three  Kings'*- 

From  out  Cologne  there  came  three  kings 
To  worship  Jesus  Christ,  their  King ; 

To  him  they  sought  fine  herbs  they  brought 
And  many  a  beauteous  golden  thing ; 
They  brought  their  gifts  to  Bethlehem  town 
And  in  that  manger  set  them  down. 

*  From   "With  Trumpet  and  Brum,""   by  Eugene  Field 
Vopyright,  1892,  by  Charles  ScrUmer's  Sons. 

[644] 


I 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

Then  spake  the  first  king,  and  he  said :  The 

"  O  Child  most  heavenly,  bright  and  fair,  ^'l'^'^ 

I  bring  this  crown  to  Bethlehem  town  tvungel 

For  Thee,  and  only  Thee,  to  wear ;  ^ 

So  give  a  heavenly  crown  to  me 

When  I  shall  come  at  last  to  Thee." 

The  second  then :  "  I  bring  thee  here 

This  royal  robe,  O  Child!"  he  cried; 
"  Of  silk  'tis  spun  and  such  an  one 

There  is  not  in  the  world  beside! 

So  in  the  day  of  doom  requite 

Me  with  a  heavenly  robe  of  white !  '* 

The  third  king  gave  his  gift,  and  quoth: 

"  Spikenard  and  myrrh  to  Thee  I  bring, 
And  with  these  twain  would  I  most  fain 

Anoint  the  body  of  mv  King;. 

So  may  their  incense  some  time  rise 

To  plead  for  me  in  yonder  skies." 

Thus  spake  the  three  kings  of  Cologne 

That  gave  their  gifts  and  went  their  way ; 
And  now  kneel  I  in  prayer  hard-by 

The  cradle  of  the  Child  to-day; 

Nor  crown,  nor  robe,  nor  spice  I  bring 

As  offering  unto  Christ  my  King. 

Yet  have  I  brought  a  gift  the  Child 
May  not  despise,  however  sm.all; 

[6451 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      For  here  I  lay  my  heart  to-day, 
Glad  ^        4j^(J  it  is  full  of  love  to  all ! 
'°  Take  Thou  the  poor,  but  loyal  thing, 

T  My  only  tribute,  Christ,  my  King. 

Eugene  Field. 


A  Christmas  Hymn 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might. 

And  now  was  queen  of  land  and  sea. 
No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars — 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hushed  domain: 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove  and  Mars 

Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 
In  the  solemn  midnight. 
Centuries  ago. 

'Twas  in  the  calm  and  silent  night! 

The  senator  of  haughty  Rome, 
Impatient,  Urged  his  chariot's  flight, 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home; 
Triumphal  arches,  gleaming,  swell 

His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless  sway; 
What  recked  the  Roman  what  befell 
A  paltry  province  far  away, 

Iji  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago.^^ 
[646  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Within  that  province  far  away  The 

Went  plodding  home  a  wearj  boor;  ^"''''^ 

A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay,  Evangel 

Falling  through  a  half-shut  stable-door  'f 

Across  his  path.     He  passed — for  naught 

Told  what  was  going  on  within ; 
How  keen  the  stars,  his  only  thought — 

The  air  how  calm,  and  cold,  and  thin, 

In  the  solemn  midnight, 

Centuries  ago! 

Oh,  strange  indifference!  low  and  high 

Drowsed  over  common  jo3^s  and  cares; 
The  earth  was  still — but  knew  not  why, 

The  world  was  listening,  unawares. 
How  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  the  world  for  ever! 
To  that  still  moment,  none  would  heed, 

Man's  doom  was  linked  no  more  to  sever — 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago! 

It  is  the  calm  and  solemn  night! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out,  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peals  abroad,  and  smite 

The  darkness — charmed  and  holy  now; 
The  night  that  erst  no  name  had  woni, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given ; 

[  64T  ] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      For  in  that  stable  lay,  new-born, 
G/flrf  'pjjg  peaceful  prince  of  earth  and  heaven, 

In  the  solemn  midnight, 
?  Centuries  ago! 

Alfred  DommetTc 

r 

O  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem 

O  little  town  of  Bethlehem, 

How  still  we  see  thee  lie! 
Above  thy  deep  and  dreamless  sleep 

The  silent  stars  go  by ; 
Yet  in  thy  dark  streets  shineth 

The  everlasting  Light; 
The  hopes  and  fears  of  all  the  years 

Are  met  in  thee  to-night. 

For  Christ  is  born  of  Mary, 

And,  gathered  all  above. 
While  mortals  sleep,  the  angels  keep 

Their  watch  of  wondering  love. 
O  morning  stars,  together 

Proclaim  the  holy  birth ! 
And  praises  sing  to  God  the  King, 

And  peace  to  men  on  earth. 

How  silently,  how  silently. 
The  wondrous  gift  is  given! 
1648] 


4 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

So  God  imparts  to  human  hearts  77*c 

The  blessings  of  His  heaven.  ^^"^^ 

No  ear  may  hear  His  coming,  ""*^' 

But  in  this  world  of  sin,  f 

Where  meek  souls  will  receive  Him  still, 
The  dear  Christ  enters  in. 

O  holy  Child  of  Bethlehem ! 

Descend  to  us,  we  pray ; 
Cast  out  our  sin,  and  enter  in, 

Be  born  in  us  to-day. 
We  hear  the  Christmas  angels 

The  great  glad  tidings  tell ; 
Oh,  come  to  us,  abide  with  us. 

Our  Lord  Emmanuel ! 

Phillips  Brooks. 

r 

While  Shepherds  Watched  Their  Flocks  hy 

Night 

While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night. 

All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down, 

And  glory  shone  around. 

"  Fear  not,"  said  he,  for  mighty  dread 

Had  seized  their  troubled  mind ; 
"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 

To  you  and  all  mankind. 

J  649] 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The      "  To  you,  in  David's  town,  this  day 
^^^'^         Is  born,  of  David's  line, 

The  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the  Lord, 
And  this  shall  be  the  sign: 


"  The  heavenly  babe  you  there  shall  find 

To  human  view  displayed, 
All  meanly  wrapped  in  swaddling  bands. 

And  in  a  manger  laid." 

Thus  spake  the  seraph;  and  forthwith 

Appeared  a  shining  throng 
Of  angels,  praising  God,  who  thus 

Addressed  their  joyful  song: 

"  All  glory  be  to  God  on  high, 

And  to  the  earth  be  peace ; 
Good  will  henceforth  from  Heaven  to  men 

Begin  and  never  cease." 

Nahum  Tate. 


Christmas  Carol 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking. 

He  heard  an  angel  sing, 
''^  This  night  shall  be  the  birthnight 

Of  Christ  our  heavenly  King. 
[650] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

«  His  birth-bed  shall  be  neither  The 

In  houscn  nor  in  hall,  (Had 

Nor  in  the  place  of  paradise,  ^'"""S^^ 
But  in  the  oxen's  stall.  'f 

"  He  neither  shall  be  rocked 

In  silver  nor  in  gold, 
But  in  the  wooden  manger 

That  lieth  in  the  mould. 

"  He  neither  shall  be  washen 

With  white  wine  nor  with  red, 
But  with  the  fair  spring  water 

That  on  you  shall  be  shed. 

"  He  neither  shall  be  clothed 

In  purple  nor  in  pall, 
But  in  the  fair,  white  linen 

That  usen  babies  all." 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking, 

Thus  did  the  angel  sing, 
And  Mary's  son  at  midnight 

Was  born  to  be  our  Kinsr. 

Then  be  you  glad,  good  people. 

At  this  time  of  the  year; 
And  light  you  up  your  candles, 
For  His  star  it  shineth  clear 

Old  EngiiIsh. 
[851] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

Ttie  Old  Christmas 

Glad 


Evangel 


r 


Now  he  who  knows  old  ChristmaSj. 

He  knows  a  carle  of  Avorth; 
For  he  is  as  good  a  fellow 

As  any  upon  earth. 

He  comes  warm  cloaked  and  coated, 
And  buttoned  up  to  the  chin, 

And  soon  as  he  comes  a-nigh  the  door 
We  open  and  let  him  in. 

We  know  that  he  will  not  fail  us. 
So  we  sweep  the  hearth  up  clean ; 

We  set  him  in  the  old  arm-chair, 
And  a  cushion  whereon  to  lean. 

And  with  sprigs  of  holly  and  ivy 
We  make  the  house  look  gay. 

Just  out  of  an  old  regard  to  him, 
For  it  was  his  ancient  way. 

•  •••••• 

He  must  be  a  rich  old  fellow: 
What  money  he  gives  away*. 

There  is  not  a  lord  in  England 
Could  equal  him  any  day. 

Good  luck  unto  old  Christmas, 

And  long  life,  let  us  sing, 
For  he  doth  more  good  unto  the  poor 

Than  many  a  crowned  king! 

Mary  Howitt. 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

God  Rest  Ye,  Merry  Gentlemen  The 

God  rest  ye,  merry  gentlemen ;  let  nothing  you  Kvaufrel 
dismay, 


For   Jesus    Christ,    our   Saviour,   was   born    on 

Christmas-day. 
The  dawn   rose  red   o'er  Bethlehem,   the   stars 

shone  through  the  gray, 
When  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on 

Christmas-day. 

God  rest  ye,  little  children;  let  nothing  you 
affright. 

For  Jesus  Christ,  your  Saviour,  was  born  this 
happy  night; 

Along  the  hills  of  Galilee  the  white  flocks  sleep- 
ing lay. 

When  Christ,  the  child  of  Nazareth,  was  bom 
on  Christmas-day. 

God   rest   ye,    all    good    Christians;    upon    this 

blessed  morn 
The  Lord  of  all  good  Christians  was  of  a  woman 

born: 
Now  all  your  sorrows  He  doth  heal,  your  sins 

He  takes  away; 
For   Jesus    Christ,    our    Saviour,   was   bom   on 

Christmas-day. 

Dinah  Mahia  MuLoci. 
[653] 


f 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Minstrels  and  Maids 

Glad 
Evangel  Outlanders,  whence  come  ye  last? 

^  The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  mind  on  the 

door. 

Through   what   green   seas   and   great  have  ye 

past? 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

From  far  away,  O  masters  mine, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 
We  come  to  bear  you  goodly  wine, 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

From  far  away  we  come  to  you, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 
To  tell  of  great  tidings  strange  and  true, 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

News,  news  of  the  Trinity, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 
And  ]\Iary  and  Joseph  from  over  the  sea ! 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

For  as  we  wandered  far  and  wide, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 

r  654  ] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

What  hap  do  you  deem  there  should  us  betide!      The 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor.     ^•I(i<i 

fwangrl 

Under  a  bent  when  the  night  was  deep,  l" 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  mind  on  the 
door. 

There  lay  three  shepherds  tending  their  sheep. 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor, 

"  O  ye  shepherds,  what  have  ye  seen, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 

To  slay  your  sorrow,  and  heal  your  teen  ?  " 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  tJie  floor. 

"  In  an  ox-stall  this  night  we  saw, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 

A  babe  and  a  maid  without  a  flaw. 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

"  There  was  an  old  man  there  beside. 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 

His  hair  was  white  and  his  hood  was  wide. 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

"  And  as  we  gazed  this  thing  upon. 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door, 

[6551 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The      Those  twain  knelt  down  to  the  Little  One, 

hiad         Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 
Evangel 

Sfc"       "  And  a  marvellous  song  we  straight  did  hear, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  mind  on  the 

door. 

That  slew  our  sorrow  and  healed  our  care." 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

News  of  a  fair  and  marvellous  thing, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the 
door. 
Nowell,  nowell,  nowell,  we  sing! 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor, 

William  Morris. 


An  Ode  on  the  Birth  of  Our  Saviour 

In  numbers,  and  but  these  few, 
I  sing  thy  birth,  O  Jesu! 
Thou  pretty  baby,  born  here 
With  sup'rabundant  scorn  here: 
Who  for  thy  princely  port  here, 

Hadst  for  thy  place 

Of  birth,  a  base 
Out-stable  for  thy  court  here. 

Instead  of  neat  enclosures 
Of  interwoven  osiers, 
[658] 


GOLDEN    NUAIBKUS 

Instead  of  fragrant  posies  fhr 

Of  daffodils  and  roses,  ('V</</ 

Thy  cradle,  kingly  stranger,  ^'''y' 

As  gospel  tells,  ^ 

Was  nothing  else 
But  here  a  homely  manger. 

But  we  with  silks,  not  crewels, 
With  sundry  precious  jewels. 
And  lily  work  will  dress  thee; 
And,  as  we  dispossess  thee 
Of  clouts,  we'll  make  a  chamber, 
Sweet  babe,  for  thee 
Of  ivor}', 
And  plaster'd  round  with  amber. 
•  ***** 

Robert  Herrick. 

Old  Christmas  Returned 

All  you  that  to  feasting  and  mirth  are  inclined. 
Come  here  is  good  news   for  to  pleasure  your 

mind. 
Old  Christmas  is  come  for  to  keep  open  house, 
He  scorns  to  be  guilty  of  starving  a  mouse: 
Then  come,  boys,  and  welcome  for  diet  the  chief, 
Plum-pudding,  goose,  capon,  minced  pies,  and 

roast  beef. 

r.57  1 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

■rke     The  holly  and  ivy  about  the  walls  wind 
Glad     ^nd  show  that  we  ought  to  our  neighbors  be 

?        Inviting  each  other  for  pastime  and  sport, 

And  where  we  best  fare,  there  we  most  do  resort ; 
We  fail  not  of  victuals,  and  that  of  the  chief, 
Plum-pudding,  goose,  capon,  minced  pies,  and 
roast  beef. 

All  travellers,  as  they  do  pass  on  their  way, 
At  gentlemen's  halls  are  invited  to  stay, 
Themselves  to  refresh,  and  their  horses  to  rest. 
Since  that  he  must  be  Old  Christmas's  guest; 
Nay,  the  poor  shall  not  want,  but  have  for  relief, 
Plum-pudding,  goose,  capon,  minced  pies,  and 
roast  beef. 

Old  Carol. 

Ceremonies  for  Christmas 

Come,  bring  with  a  noise, 

My  merry,  merry  boys, 
HThe  Christmas  log  to  the  firing. 

While  my  good  dame,  she 

Bids  ye  all  be  free. 
And  drink  to  your  heart's  desiring^ 

With  the  last  year's  brand 
Light  the  new  block,  and 
For  good  success  in  his  spending, 
[658] 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

On  your  psalteries  play,  Tkt 

That  sweet  luck  may  Gtau 

Come  while  the  log  is  a-teending.  ^'''"^' 

r 

Drink  now  the  strong  beer, 

Cut  the  white  loaf  here, 
The  while  the  meat  is  a-shrcdding ; 

For  the  rare  mince -pie, 

And  the  plums  stand  by. 
To  fill  the  paste  that's  a-kncading. 

Robert  Herrick. 

Christmas  in  England. 

Heap  on  move  wood ! — the  wind  Is  chill ; 
But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 
We'll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  still; 
Eacli  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  yea* 
The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer; 
Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 
At  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain ; 
High  on  the  beach  his  galleys  drew, 

And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew. 

*  ***** 


^659  3 


GOLDEN   NUMBERS 

The  On  Christmas  Eve  the  bells  were  rung; 


Glad 
Evangel 


On  Christmas  Eve  the  mass  was  sung: 

That  only  night  in  all  the  year 

Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear. 

The  damsel  donned  her  kirtle  sheen ; 

The  hall  was  dressed  with  holly  green; 

Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry-men  go, 

To  gather  in  the  mistletoe; 

Then  opcn'd  wide  the  baron's  hall 

To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all. 

Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 

And  Ceremony  doft'ed  his  pride. 

The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 

That  night  might  village  partner  choose; 

The  Lord,  underogating,  share 

The  vulgar  game  of  "  Post  and  pair." 

All  hail'd  with  uncontroll'd   delight 

And  general  voice  the  happy  night, 

That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  crown. 

Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

W  V  ^  "^F  *  ^ 

"  England  was  merry  England  when 

Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 

'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale; 

'Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale ; 

A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 

The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year." 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

From  "Marmion.^^ 

^  660  1 


r 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  Gracious  Time  Tie 

Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes         ^^i 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated,  "" 

The  bird  of  daAming  singeth  all  night  long : 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad; 
The    nights    are    wholesome;    then    no    planets 

strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  liath  power  to  diarm. 
So  hallow'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time. 

William  Shakespeare. 
From  "  Hamlet:* 


Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Som  of  the  Mormng 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  Sons  of  the  morning! 

Dawn  on  our  darkness  and  lend  us  thine  aid! 
Star  of  the  East,  \h'°  ^nn/fni  adorning, 

Guide  where  our  iniarn  r»edeemer  is  laid! 

Cold  on  His  cradle  the  dewdrops  arc  shining, 
Low  lies  His  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall ; 

Angels  adore  Him  In  slumber  reclining, 
]Maker  and  Monarch  and  Saviour  of  all ! 

Say,  shall  we  yield  Him,  In  costly  devotion, 
Odors  of  Edom  and  offerings  divine? 

Gems  of  the  mountain  and  pearls  of  the  ocean, 
I\Iyrrh    from  the   forest,   or   gold   from   the 
mine? 


GOLDEN    NUMBERS 

The  \'ainly  we  offer  each  ample  oblation; 
Glad  Vainly  with  gifts  would  His  favor  secure: 

°  Richer  by  far  is  the  heart's  adoration ; 
f  Dearer  to  God  are  the  prayers  of  the  poor. 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  Sons  of  the  morning! 

Dawn  on  our  darkness  and  lend  us  thine  aid! 
Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 

Guide  where  our  Infant  Redeemer  is  laid! 

Reginald  HebeEo 


TVU^.  7.]lli 


6^1 


I 


4NDKX   BY  AUTHORS 


o. 


9         9 

I  ♦ 

ADDISOX,    JOSEPH    [16T2-1T19] :    The   Spacwu* 

Firmament  on  High,  54. 
ALDRICH,    THO.ALVS    BAILEY    [1836—]:   Maple 

Leaves,  17 ;  Before  the  Rain,  31 ;  Tiger-Lilies,  71 ; 

A  Turkish  Legend,  611. 
^EXAXDER,    CECIL    FRANXES    [1830-1895]: 

The  Burial  of  Moses,  504. 

^_llingha:\i,    willia:\i    [1824-1889] :     ^yild 

Hose,  70:  The  Fairy  Folk;  174:  Blowing  Bubbles, 
195;  Windlass  Song,  ^68:  The  Abbot  of  Inisfalen, 

4w  a 

V.NDEKSOX,  ALEXANDER  [1845—]:  Cuddle 
Doon,  126. 

VRXOLD,  EDWIX  [1831—]  :  Almond  Blossom,  69. 

LRXOLD,  GEORGE  [1834-1865]:  Sic-eet  Septem- 
ber, 15. 

ARXOLD,  MATTHEW  [1822-1888]  :  The  Forsaken 
Merman,  444. 

S.USTIX,  ALFRED  [1835-]  :  To  Ameriea,  347. 

VYTOUX,  WILLIAM  EDMOXDSTOL^'E  [1813- 
1865]  :  The  Old  Scottish  Car-alier,  281. 

iALLADS,  OLD :  Sir  Patrick  Speiis,  551 :  The  Bailiff's 
Daughter  of  Islington,  555:  King  John  and  the 
Abbot  of  Canterburi/,  558:  Lord  Belchan  and 
Susie  Pije,  563;  The  Gay  Gos-haxck,  569;  Earl 

I  663] 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

Mar's  Daughter,  576 ;  Clievy-Chace.^  582 ;  Hynde 
Horn,  593;  Glenlogie,  597. 

BARING-GOULD,  SABINE  [1834—1:  The  Olive 
Tree,  019. 

BEECHING,  HENRY  CHARLES  [1859—]:  Bicy- 
cling Song,  196;  A  Boy's  Prayer,  Q^Q. 

BENNETT,  HENRY  HOLCOMB  [1863—]:  The 
Flog  Goes  By,  324. 

BENNETT,  WILLIAM  COX  [1820-1895]  :  invoca- 
tion to  Rain  in  Summer,  34  ;  To  a  Cricket,  113. 

BLAKE,  WILLIAM  [1757-1828]  :  The  Tiger,  53. 

BOKER,  GEORGE  HENRY  [1823-1890]  :  The  Black 
Regiment,  326. 

BONAR,  HORATIO  [1808-1890]:  Be  True,  610. 

BROOKS,  PHILLIPS  [1835-1893]  :  0  Little  Town  of 
Bethlehem,  648. 

BROWNELL,  HENRY  HOWARD  [1S20-1872] : 
Abraham  Lincoln,  321;  Night  Quarters,  329. 

BROWNING,  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  [1809- 
1861]:  Reading  (from  "Aurora  Leigh"),  209; 
A  Portrait,  231 ;  Romance  of  the  Szvan's  Nest,  423. 

BROWNING,  ROBERT  [1812-1889]  :  April  in  Eng- 
land, 8;  Hozc  They  Brought  the  Good  Neivs  from 
Ghent  to  Aix,  464;  The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin, 
480 ;  Herve  Riel,  493 ;  Incident  of  the  French 
Camp,  M4.  ~  ~^ 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN  [1794-1878]: 
March,  6;  The  Planting  of  the  Apple  Tree,  59; 
To  the  Fringed  Gentian,  72;  The  Death  of  the 
Flotccrs,  88;  To  a  Waterfowl,  105;  The  Twenty- 
second  of  December,  306. 

BUNYAN,  JOHN  [1628-1688]:  The  Shepherd  BotJ 
Sings  in  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  610;  The  Pil" 
grim,  632. 

[  664  ] 


INDEX    BY    ATITHOIIS 
^™n^'    ''SP^'^IT    tn59  1^1:    To   a    Mouni.nu 

Wf  .^39;  /  Lot,.  My  Jean,  o>o.  ,v,y  AV,,,;,,-  '., 
Awa  253 ;  3/,^  //.^rr^  in  the  Highland,',  ^211 ;  Bav- 
nockhurn,  539. 

BYRON,  GEORGE  GORDON,  LORD  [ITHS  IHiJil 
Swimming  (from  "  Tho  Two  Eoscari"),  2()o  •  'A, 
the  Ocean  (from  "  Childe  Harold's  Pil^n-iniarre  ") 
225;  Fwiore  of  Belshazzar,  500;  TAr  lY/-/,^  ftWorJ 
iraf^rZoo  (from  "Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage"), 
,540 ;  The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  548. 

CAMPBELL,  THOMAS  [1TT7-1844]  :  Ye  Mariner,  of 
England,  '290;  Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  il6;  Battle 
of  the  Baltic,  511;  Hohcnlinden,  51)2. 
CAREW,  THOMAS  [1589-1639]:  Spring,  7. 
CARLYLE,  THOMAS  [1795-1881]  :  To-Daij,  602 
CARMAN,  BLISS  [1861—]  :  A  Vagabond  Song,  ^01 
CARROLL,  LEWIS  (RE^.  CHARLES  LCTWIDGE 
DODGSON  [1832-1890]  :  A  Song  of  Love,  122; 
The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter,  381. 
CARY,    ALICE    [1820-1871]:    The   ''Gray   Swan," 
452. 

CLOUGH,  ARTHUR  HUGH   [1819-18611:   Where 

Lies  the  Land?  273. 

COLERIDGE,    SAMUEL    TAYLOR    [1772-1834]: 
Kubla  Khan,  160;  The  Knight's  Tomb,  292 

COLLINS,  WILLIAM  [1720-1756]:  How  Sleep  the 
Brave!  292. 

COOLIDGE,  SUSAN  (SARAH  C.  WOOLSEY) 
[184.5-1905]:  Bind-Weed,  74;   Time  to  Go,  86. 

CORNWALL,  BARRY  (BRYAN  WALLER  PROC- 
TER) [1790-1874]:  The  Hunter's  Song,  223; 
The  Blood  Horse,  225 ;  The  Sea,  25S. 

[mo] 


INDEX   BY    AUTHORS 

COWPER,  WILLIAM   [1731-1800]:  The  Diverting 

History  of  John  Gilpin,  359;  On  the  Loss  of  the 

Royal  George,  535. 
CRANCH,  CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  [1813-1892]: 

The  Bobolinks,  103. 
CUNNINGHAM,     ALLAN     [1784-1842]:     A     Sea- 

Song,  259;  Loyalty,  276.  j 

DELAND,  MARGARET  [1857—]:  While  Shepherds 
Watched  Their  Flocks  by  Night,  637. 

DICKINSON,  EMILY  [1830-1886]:  The  Grass,  81; 
The  Bee,  116;  Chartless,  626. 

DOBELL,  SYDNEY"  [1824-1874^]  :  The  Procession  of 
the  Flowers,  67 ;  Hozv's  31  y  Boy  ?  462. 

DOBSON,  AUSTIN  [1840—]:  The  Child-Musician, 
463. 

DOMMETT,  ALFRED  [1811-1887]:  A  Christmas 
Hymn,  646.  M 

DOUGLAS    OF    FINGLAND,    WILLIAM:     Annie^ 
Laurie,  243. 

DRAKE,  JOSEPH  RODMAN  [1795-1820]  :  The  Cul- 
prit Fay  (Extracts),  168;  The  American  Flag 
(Extract),  311. 

DRAYTON,  MICHAEL  [1563-1631]:  A  Fine  Bay, 
5;  The  Arming  of  Pigxciggen  (from  "Nym- 
phidia  "),  149;  The  Battle  of  Aglncourt,  517. 

DRUMMOND,  WILLIAM  [1585-1649]:  Phyllis, 
251 ;  The  Angels,  636. 

DRYDEN,  JOHN  [1631-1700]:  Alexander's  Feast 
(from  "  The  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day  "\  158 ;  Fife 
and  Drum  (from  "  The  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day  ")» 
280. 

[666] 


INDEX   BY   AUTIKJHS 

ELIOT,  GEORGE  [1820-1880]  :  /  Am  Loneh,  (from 
"  The  Spanish  Gypsy  "),  YZH-  Brother  and  Shter, 
129. 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO  [180.'}- 1882  |  :  Aprd 
and  May  (from  "  .Alay-Day  "),  9;  The  Suow 
Storm,  21;  The  Rhodora,  7(3;  The  Humhle-liee, 
116;  Concord  Hymn,  SI 5:  Ode  Sung  in  the  Touu 
Hall,  Concord,  July  4,  185T,  ;3Uj;  Forbearance, 
603 ;  Duty,  605. 


FANSHAWE,    CATHERINE    M.    [1765-1834 1  •    .( 
Riddle,  373. 

FLETCHER,  JOHN  [1.576-1625]  :  Evening  Song,  3. 
FORD,  ROBERT  [1846—]  :  The  Bonniest  Bairn  in  «' 

the  WarV,  125. 
FIELD,  EUGENE   [1850-1895]  :  The  Three  Kings, 

644. 
FIELDS,  JAMES  T.  [1816-1881]  :  Song  of  the  Turtle 

and  Flamingo,  385. 
FITZGERALD,  EDWARD  [1809-1883]:  Old  Song, 

213. 


GAY,  JOHN  [1688-1732]:  The  Council  of  Horses, 
356;  The  Lion  and  the  Cub,  378. 

GILBERT,  WILLIAM  SCHWENCK  [1836—]  :  Cap- 
tain  Recce,  387. 

GOLDSMITH,  OLIVER  [1728-1774]:  The  First, 
Best  Country  (from  "The  Traveller"),  275; 
Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog,  379. 

GRAY,  THOMAS  [1746-1771]:  On  a  Favorite  Cat, 
Drozcned  in  a  Tub  of  Goldfishes,  353 :  Elegy  Writ- 
ten in  a  Country  Churchyard,  612. 

(667  1 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

HALLECK,    FITZ-GREENE    [1790-1867]:    Marco 

Bozzaris,  545. 
HARTE,  BRET  [1839-1902]:  Jessie,  246;  The  Re- 
veille, 288 ;  A  Grey  port  Legend,  458. 
HAY,  JOHN  [1838—]  :  The  Enchanted  Shirt,  395. 
HEBER,     REGINALD      [1783-1826]:     Providence, 

119  ;  Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Son^  of  the  Morning, 

661. 
H.  H.  (HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON)   [1831-1885]: 

October's  Bright  Blue  Weather,  16;  Down  to  Sleep, 

18 ;  Coronation,  620. 
HEMANS,    FELICIA     [1749-1835]:       Landing    of 

the  Pilgrim  Fathers,   305 ;  Hymn  for  Christmas, 

639. 
HENLEY,     WILLIAM     ERNEST      [1849-1903] : 

Home,  131 ;  Made  in  the  Hot  Weather,  398. 
HERBERT,    GEORGE     [1593-1632]:    The    Elixir, 

629 ;  Be  Useful,  633. 
HERRICK,    ROBERT    [1591-1674]:    To   Daffodils, 

78;  Going  A-Maying,  197;  The  Star  Song,  638; 

An  Ode  on  the  Birth  of  Our  Saviour,  656;  Cererao- 

nies  for  Christmas,  658. 
HIGGINSON,  THOMAS  WENTWORTH  [1823—]  : 

The  Snowing  of  the  Pines,  QQ. 
HOGG,   JAMES    (THE   ETTRICK   SHEPHERD) 

[1772-1835]  :  The  Skylark,  102. 
HOLLAND,    JOSIAH    GILBERT    [1819-1881]:    A 

Christmas  Carol,  635. 
"HOLM,  SAXE":  A  Song  of  Clover,  76. 
HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL   [1809-1894]  :  Old 

Ironsides   (U.    S.    S.   "Constitution"),   312;   The 

Chambered  Nautilus,  604. 
HOOD,  THOMAS  [1798-1845]  :  Ruth,  242 ;  Novem- 
ber, 402. 

1  668  j 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

HOUGHTON,  LORD  (RICHARD  MONTKTOV 
MILNES)  [1809-1885]:  Our  Motlur  Ton'ruc, 
345. 

HOWE,  JULIA  WARD  [1819—]:  Jiafth-Humn  of 

the  Republic,  331. 
HOWELLS,  WILLIAM  DEAN  [1837—1 :  In  Aurnist, 

HOWITT,  MARY  [1804-1888]:  The  Monkey,  401; 
Old  Christmas,  Q5%. 

HOWITT,  WILLIAM  [1792-1879]:  The  Northern 
Seas,  226. 

HUNT,  JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  [1784-1859]:  To 
the  Grasshopper  and  the  Cricket,  115;  Two  Heav- 
ens, 121;  Captain  Sword,  403;  The  Glove  and  the 
Liom,  460;  Ahou  Ben  Adhem  and  the  Angel,  609. 

INGELOW,  JEAN  [1830-1897]:  Seven  Times  Two, 
411;  The  Long  White  Seam,  413;  The  High  Tide 
on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire,  438. 

JONSON,  BEN  [1574-1637]:  Hesperus'  Song  (from 
"  Cynthia's  Rovcls  "),  151 ;  So  Sweet  Is  She  (from 
"  The  Triumph  of  Ciiaris  "),  251 ;  The  Noble  Nat- 
ure, 603. 


KEATS,  JOHN  [1796-1820]  :  Morning,  1 ;  Minnows, 
45 ;  The  Sigh  of  Silence,  58 :  Sweet  Peas,  68 ;  Gold- 
finches, 107;  On  the  Grasshopper  and  Cricket, 
114;  On  First  Looking  Into  Chapman's  Homer, 
210 ;  December,  622. 

KINGSLEY,  CHARLES  [1819-1875]:  Ode  to  the 
Northeast  Wind,  36;  Clear  and  Cool  (from  "The 

[669] 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

Water-Babies"),  44;  A  Myth,  173;  Ballad,  422; 
The  Sands  of  Dee,  450 ;  A  Farewell,  625. 
KIPLING,  RUDYARD   [1865—]:  Recessional,  297; 
The  Dove  of  Dacca,  472. 

LARCOM,  LUCY  [1826-1893]:  Hannah  Binding 
Shoes,  414. 

LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  WADS  WORTH  [1807- 
1882]  :  The  Harvest  Moov,  27;  Ravn  in  Summer, 
32;  ^  New  Household,  121 ;  Home  Song,  138;  The 
Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  454;  Life  (from  the 
"  Psalm  of  Life  "),  601 ;  The  Three  Kings,  641. 

LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL  [1819-1891]:  June 
Weather  (from  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  "),  11 ; 
A  Winter  Morning  (  from  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Laun- 
fal "),  20 ;  The  Brook  in  Winter  (from  "  The  Vis- 
ion of  Sir  Launfal  "),  42;  To  the  Dandelion  (Ex- 
tract), 77;  The  Fatherland.  298;  Washington 
(from  "Under  the  Old  Elm"),  307;  Stanzas  on 
Freedom,  317 ;  The  Singing  Leaves,  407 ;  Sir  Laun- 
fal and  the  Leper  (  from  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Laun-. 
fal"),  606. 

LAMB,  CHARLES  [1775-1834]  AND  MARY  [1765- 
1847]  :  Feigned  Courage,  374. 

LAMB,  CHARLES:    The  Housekeeper,  400. 

LANG,  ANDREW  [1844—]  :  ScT/the  Song,  86. 

LANIER,  SIDNEY  [1842-1881]:  Dear  Land  of  All 
My  Love  (from  "  The  Centennial  Ode,"  1876),  301. 

MACAULAY,  LORD  (THOMAS  BABINGTON 
MACAULAY)  [1800-1859]:  The  Armada:  A 
Fragment,  524 ;  Ivry,  530. 

MACDONALD,  GEORGE  [1824—]:  Sir  Lark  and 
Kvng  Sun:  A  F arable,  99. 

[6701 


INDEX   BY   AlTTHOllS 

MARKHAM,  EDWIN  [1852—]:  Lincoln  ih-  Great 
Commoner^  319. 

MARLOWE,  CHRISTOPHER  [156i-1593J:  The 
Shepherd  to  His  Love,  420. 

MARTIN,  WILLIAxM  [18311896]:  An  Apple  Or- 
chard in  the  Spring,  63. 

MARVELL,  ANDREW  [1621-1678]:  Bermudas, 
272. 

McMASTER,  GUY  HUMPHREYS  [1829-1887]: 
Carmen  Bellicosum,  309. 

MEREDITH,  OWEN  (EDWARD  ROBERT  BUL- 
WER-LYTTON)  [1831-1892]:  The  White 
Anemone,  80. 

MICKLE,  WILLIAM  J.  [1734-1788]:  The  SaUor't 
Wife,  134. 

MILLER,  JOAQUIN  [1841—]:  Columbus,  301; 
Crossing  the  Plains,  314. 

MILNES,  RICHARD  MONCKTON.  See  Hougliton, 
Lord. 

MILTON,  JOHN  [1608-1674]:  Evening  in  Paradi.se 
(from  "  Paradise  Lost  "),  2;  T/i£?  Eter7ml  Spring, 
5;  Song  on  May  Morning,  10;  The  World  Beauti- 
ful ( from  "  Paradise  Lost  "),  27  ;  A  Scene  in  Para- 
dise (from  "  Paradise  Lost  "),  52;  V Allegro  (Ex- 
tracts), 152;  Sabrina  Fair  (from  "Comus"), 
157;  On  His  Blindness,  606. 

MITCHELL,  WALTER  [1826—]:  Tacking  Ship 
Off  Shore,  265. 

MORE,  HANNAH  [1745-1853]  :  A  Riddle,  371. 

MOORE,  THOMAS  [1779-1852]:  The  Minstrel-Bo,/, 
278;  The  Harp  That  Once  Through  Tara's  Halls, 

279. 
MORRIS,    WILLIAM    [1834-1899]:    MivMreh    and 

Maids,  654. 

[6711 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

MOTHERWELL,  WILLIAM  [1797-1835]  :  Sing  On^ 
Blithe  Bird!  93  ;  The  Cavalier's  Song,  280. 

MULOCK,  DINAH  MARIA  (MRS.  CRAIK)  [1826- 
1887]:  Autumn's  Processional,  16;  Highland 
Cattle,  50 ;  Green  Things  Growing,  57 ;  God 
Rest  Ye,  Merry  Gentlemeri,  653. 


NOEL,  THOMAS  [1799-1861]:  Old  Winter,  22. 
NORTON,      CAROLINE      ELIZABETH      (LADY 

STIRLING-MAXWELL)      [1808-1876]:     The 

King  of  Denmark's  Ride,  418. 


PARSONS,     THOMAS     WILLIAM     [1819-1892]: 

Dirge  for  One  Who  Fell  in  Battle,  293. 
PEACOCK,    THOMAS    LOVE     [1785-1866]:    The 

Priest  and  the  Mulberry  Tree,  355.  ^ 

PECK,   SAMUEL   MINTURN    [1854—]:  Autumn's 

Mirth,  90. 
PERCIVAL,    JAMES    GATES    [1795-1856]:    The 

Coral  Grove,  269. 
PIERPONT,   JOHN    [1785-1866]:    Whittling,   220; 

Warren's  Address,  308. 
POE,   EDGAR   ALLAN    [1809-1849]:   The   Raven, 

182 ;  The  Bells,  189. 
POPE,    ALEXANDER    [1688-1744]:    Descend,    Ye 

Nine  (from  •'  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day").  -1^- 
PRAED,     WINTHROP     MACK  WORTH      [1802- 

1839]  :  Charade,  370. 
PRIOR,  MATTHEW   [1664-1721]:   To  a  Child  of 

Quality,  369. 
PROCTER,  ADELAIDE  ANNE  [1826-1864]:  On^ 

by  One,  629. 

(672] 


LNDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

PROCTER,  BRYAN  WALLER.  See  Cornwall, 
BaiTv. 

PROCTOR,  EDNA  DEAN  [1838—]  :  Columbm,  Em- 
blem., 84<. 

RAMSAY,  ALLAN   [1T13-1784]  :  My  Fegfry  (from 

"  The  Gentle  Shepherd  "),  243. 
READ,  THOMAS  BUCHANAN   [1822-1872]:  The 

Wiiidy  Night,  39 ;  Drifting,  '26'Z;  Sheridan's  Ride, 

332. 
RILEY,  JAMES  WHITCOMB  [1853—]  :  The  Name 

of  Old  Glory  (from  "  Home  Folks"),  34-9. 
ROSSETTI,  CHRISTINA  G.   [1830-1894]:  ChiUFs 

Talk  in  April,  109;  All  Things  Wait  Upon  Thee, 

119;  Consider,  628. 
ROSSETTI,    DANTE    GABRIEL    [1828-1882]:   A 

Young  Fi7--Wood,  65. 

SARGENT,  EPES  [1813-1880]  :  A  Life  on  the  Ocean 
Wave,  257. 

SAXE,  JOHN  G.  [1816-1887]  :  Solomon  and  the  Bees, 
502. 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER  [1771-1832]  :  Hunting  Song, 
222;  My  Native  Land  (from  "The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel  "),  276;  Border  Ballad  (from  "  The 
Monaster}^"),  286;  Gathering  Song  of  Donuil 
Dhu,  287;  Soldier,  Rest!  (from  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake"),  296;  Lochinvar  (from  "  ]Marniion "), 
427;  Jock  of  Hazeldean,  430;  Christmas  in  Eng- 
land (from  "Marmion"),  659. 

SHAKESPEARE,  WILLIAM  [1564-1616] :  A  Morn- 
ing Song  (from  "  Cvmbeline  "),  2;  When  Icicles 
Hang  by  the  Wall  (from  "  Love's  La])or's  Lost  "), 
19;  Under  the  Greetizcood  Tree  (from  "As  You 

[  673  1 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

Like  It"),  59;  Fairyland  (from  "Midsummer- 
Night's  Dream  "),  145;  Fuck  and  the  Fairy  (from 
"Midsummer-Night's  Dream"),  145;  Lullaby  for 
Titania  (from  "Midsummer-Night's  Dream"), 
146 ;  Oheron  and  Titania  to  the  Fairy  Train  (from 
"  Midsummer-Night's  Dream"),  147  ;  ArieVs  Songs 
(from  "The  Tempest"),  147;  Orpheus  with  His 
Lute  (from  "King  Henry  VIII."),  149;  Jog  On, 
Jog  On  (from  "  A  Winter's  Tale  "),  200 ;  Music's 
Silver  Sound  (from  "Romeo  and  JuHet"),  210; 
The  Pozaer  of  Music  (from  "The  Merchant  of 
Venice"),  211;  Who  Is  Silvia?  (from  "The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  ^'crona  "),  240;  Helena  and  Hermia 
(from  "A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream"),  250; 
Polonius  to  Laertes  (from  "Hamlet"),  618;  The 
Commomcealth  of  the  Bees  (from  "  King  Henry 
v."),  631;  The  Gracious  Time  (from  "Ham- 
let"), 661. 

SHELLEY,  PERCY  BYSSHE  [1792-1822]:  Day- 
break, 1 ;  Dirge  for  the  Year,  25;  The  Cloud,  28; 
To  a  Skylark,  94  ;  The  Magic  Car  Moved  On  (from 
"Queen  Mab"),  162;  Arethusa,  165;  A  Child  of 
Twelve  (from  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam"),  237. 

SHENSTONE,  WILLIAM  [1714-1763]  :  The  Shep- 
herd's Home,  112. 

SILL,  EDWARD  ROWLAND  [1841-1887]  :  Oppor- 
tunity, 608. 

SKELTON,  JOHN  [1460-1529]  :  To  Mistress  Marga- 
ret Hussey,  240. 

SOUTHEY,  ROBERT  [1774-1843]:  Night,  4;  The 
Cataract  of  Lodore,  391 ;  The  Inchcape  Rock,  468; 
The  Battle  of  Blenheim,  522. 

SOUTHWELL,  ROBERT  [1556-1595]  :  New  Prince, 
New  Pomp,  640. 

(674] 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

SPENSER,  EDMUND  [1552-15991:  The  Seasons 
(from  "The  Faerie  Queenc"),  5;  Mai/,  <) ;  Sum- 
mer  (from  "The  Faerie  Queene"),  I'i);  Aii^m.st, 
14;  Autumn  (from  "The  Faerie  Queene"),  15; 
Winter,  19.  <  ^' 

SPOFFORD,  HARRIET  PRESCOTT  [18.'35— ]:  ./ 

Snowdrop,  69. 
SPRAGUE,  CHARLES  [1791-1875] :  /;k/.y/;;.,  I31;5. 
STEDMAN,  EDMUND  CLARENCE  [1833—]  :  The 

Flight  of  the  Birds,  111;  Going  A-Xuttiug,  219. 
STEVENSON,  ROBERT  LOUIS  [1850-1894] :  The 

Wind,  35;  A   Visit  from  the  Sea,  261. 
STODDARD,    RICHARD    HENRY     [1895-1909]: 

Abraham  Lincoln,  318. 
STODDART,    THOMAS    TOD    [1810-1880]:    The 

Angler's  Invitation,  207. 
STORY%  WILLIAM  WETMORE  [1819-1895]:  The 

English  Language  (Extracts),  346. 
SWETT,  SUSAN  HARTLEY:  J»/?/,  13. 
SWIFT,  JONATHAN  [1667-1745]:  A  Riddle,  372; 

Baucis  and  Philemon,  375. 
SWINBURNE,     ALGERNON     CHARLES     [1837- 

1909]:    Etude    Realiste,    139;    Sicimming    {U-o::\ 

"  Tristram  of  Lyonesse  "),  201. 

TABB,  JOHN  B.  [1845—]:  The  Tax-Gathcrcr,  114. 

TATE,  NAHUM  [1652-1715]:  While  Shepherds 
Watched  Their  Flocks  by  Xight,  649. 

TAYLOR,  BAYARD  [1825-1878]  :  The  Song  of  the 
Camp,  284;  A  Night  With  a  Wolf,  471. 

TENNY^SON,  ALFRED,  LORD  [1809-1S92]:  The 
Brook;  40;  The  Eagle  (Fragment),  109;  The  Mer- 
man, 177;  The  Mermaid,  178:  Bugle  Song  (from 
"The  Princess"),  181;  Leolin  and  Edith   (from 

[675] 


INDEX   BY   AUTHORS 

"Aylmer's  Field"),  218;  Olivia  (from  "The 
Talking  Oak"),  247;  The  Shell,  270;  The  Lady 
of  Shalott,  431 ;  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade, 
537. 

TENNYSON,  FREDERICK  [1807-1898]  :  The  Sky- 
lark, 101. 

THACKERAY,  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  [1811- 
1863]:  Pocahontas,  303;  The  End  of  the  Flay 
(from  "  Dr.  Birch  and  His  Young  Friends  "),  623. 

THAXTER,  CELIA  [1836-1894]:  The  Sandpiper, 
107 ;  Nikolina,  248. 

THORNBURY,  GEORGE  WALTER  [1828-1876]  : 
The  Cavalier^s  Escape,  479. 

TROWBRIDGE,  JOHN  TOWNSEND  [1827—]: 
Midwinter,  23 ;  Evening  at  the  Farm,  136. 

UNKNOWN:  Mother's  Song  (West  of  England  Lul- 
laby), 123;  Love  WiU  Find  Out  the  Way  (Old 
English),  133;  When  Banners  Are  Waoing,  509; 
Christmas  Carol  (Old  English),  650;  Old  Christ- 
mas Returned  (Old  Carol),  657. 

VAN  DYKE,  HENRY  [1852—]:  The  Angler's  Re- 
veille, 203. 

VAUGHAN,  HENRY  [1621-1695] :  Peace,  627. 

VERY,  JONES  [1813-1880]:  The  Latter  Rain,  35; 
Tlie  Tree,  65. 

WATSON,  WLLLIAM  [1858—]  :  Song  to  April,  7. 
WESTWOOD,   THOMAS    [1850-1888]:  Mine  Host 

of  "  The  Golden  Apple,"  64:  Little  Bell,  234. 
WHITMAN,  WALT  [1819-1892]  :  0  Captain!    My 

Captain!  323;  Two  Veterans,  340, 

16?6J 


INDEX   BY    AUTHORS 

WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLKAF  [IKOT  1H<);^1: 
Snow-Bound  (Extracts),  46;  'ilif  Corn-Souf^,  Hii ; 
The  Barefoot  Boy,  214;  Song  of  the  Negro  Boat- 
man, 335;  Barbara  Frietchle,  337;  The  I'ijus  nt 
Luchnozc,  514. 

WILDER,  JOHN  NICHOLS  [1814-1858] :  Stand  h,/ 
the  Flag,  342. 

WOLFE,  CHARLES  [1791-1823]:  The  Burial  of 
Sir  John  Moore,  295. 

WOODBERRY,  GEORGE  EDWARD  [1855—1:  .it 
Gibraltar,  343,  344. 

WOODWORTH,  SAMUEL:    The  Needle,  228. 

WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM  [1770-1850]:  The 
Daffodils,  79;  We  Are  Seven,  141;  Skating  (from 
"The  Prelude"),  207;  Lucy,  245;  The  Solitary 
Reaper,  249;  Faith  and  Freedom,  345;  In  a 
Child's  Album,  602. 


(677 


INDEX   KV   TITLES 

Abbot   of   Inisfalen,    The,      Armada,  The,  5i2  !• 


474 

Abou  Ben  Adhcm  and  the 
Angel,  609 


Abraham  Lincohi  (Brown-      August,  14 


Arming     of      Tigwlggcn, 

The,  IH) 
At  Gihriiltar,  ;3l;3,  344 


ell),  321 


Autumn,  lo 


Abraham    Lincoln    (Stod-      Autumn's   Mirth,   90 

dard),  318  Autumn's  Processional,  16 

Alexander's   Feast,   158 


Allegro,  L',  152 

All    Things    Wait    Upon 

Thee,  119 
Almond  Blossoms,  69 
American  Flag,  The,  311 
Angels,  The,  636 
Angler's    Invitation,   The, 

207 


Bailiff's    Daughter    of    Is- 
lington, The,  555 
Ballad,  422 
Bannockhurn,  539 
Barbara  Frietchie,  337 
Barefoot  Boy,  Th.e,  214 
Battle  of  Agincourt,  The, 
517 


Angler's      Reveille,      The,  Battle   of  Bletiheim,   Tiie, 

203  522 

Annie  Laurie,  243  Battle  of  the  Baltic,  511 

Apple     Orchard     in     the  Battle-Hymn    of    the    Re- 


Spring,  An,  63 
April  and  May,  9 
April  in  England,  8 
Arethusa,  165 
Ariel's  Songs,  147 


public,  331 
Baucis  and  Philemon,  375 
Bee,  The,  11 6 
Bees,     C'onnnonwcalth     of 

the,  631 
f670' 


INDEX   BY   TITLES 


Before  the  Rain,  31 
Bells,  The,  189 
Belshazzar,  Vision  of,  500 
Bermudas,  272 
Be  True,  610 
Be  Useful,  633 
Bicycling  Song,  196 
Bind-Weed,  74 
Black  Regiment,  The,  326 
Blood  Horse,  The,  225 
Blowing  Bubbles,  195 
Bobolinks,  The,  103 
Bonniest   Bairn    in   a*  the 

Warl',  The,  125 
Border  Ballad,  286 
Boy's  Prayer,  A,  626 
Brightest  and  Best  of  the 

Sons    of    the    Morning, 

661 
Brook,  The,  40 
Brook  in  Winter,  The,  42 
Brother  and  Sister,  129 
Bugle  Song,  181 
Burial  of  Moses,  The,  504 
Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore, 

The,  295 

Captain  Reece,  387 
Captain  Sword,  403 
Carmen  Bellicosum,  309 
Cataract  of  Lodore,  The, 

391 
Cavalier's     Escape,     The, 

479 

t 


Cavalier's  Song,  The,  280 

Ceremonies  for  Christmas, 
658 

Chambered  Nautilus,  The,  -^ 
604 

Chanted  Calendar,  A,  1 

Charade,  370 

Charge  of  the  Light  Bri- 
gade, The,  537 

Chartless,  626 

Chevy-Chace,  582 

Child- Musician,  The,  463 

Child  of  Twelve,  A,  237 

Child's  Talk  in  April,  109 

Chloe,  238 

Christmas  Carol,  650 

Christmas  Carols  A,  635 

Christmas  Hymn,  A,  646 

Christmas      in      England, 
659 

Clear  and  Cool,  44 

Cloud,  The,  28 

Columbia's  Emblem,  84 

Columbus,  301 

Commonwealth       of       the 
Bees,  The,  631 

Concord  Hymn,  315 

Consider,  628 

Coral  Grove,  The,  269 

Corn-Song,  The,  82 

Coronation,  620 

Council    of    Horses,    The, 
356 

Cricket,  To  a,  113 
680] 


LNDEX   BV   TITLES 


Crossing  the  Plains,  314 
Cuddle  Doon,  126 
Culprit    Fay,    The    (Ex- 
tracts), 168 

Daffodils.  The,  79 
Daffodils,  To,  78 
Daybreak,  1 

Dear    Land    of    All    ^,ly 
Love,  301 

Death  of  the  Flowers,  The. 
88 

December,  622 

Descend,  Ye  Nine,  212 

Destruction    of   Sennache- 
rib, The,  548 

Dirge,  for  One  Who  Fell 
in  Battle,  293 

Dirge  for  the  Year,  25 

Diverting       History       of 
John  Gilpin,  The.  359 

Dove  of  Dacca,  The,  472 

"  Down  to  Sleep,"  18 

Drifting,  262 

Duty,  605 


Elixir.  The,  629 
Enchante<l      Shirt,      The 

395 
End  of  tlK  I'ky,  The,  62S 
English     I    ■-.:.,..    The 

(Extrac;-  ,.    jtii 
Eternal  Spring,  The,  5 
Etude  Realistc,  139 
Evening  at  the  Fann.  136 
Evening  in  Paradise,  2 
Evening  Song,  3 
Extracts     from     "  L'Allc- 

gro,"  152 

Fairy  Folk,  The,  174 

Fairy  Land,  145 

Fairy  Songs  and  Songs  of 

Fancy.  145 
Faith  and  Freedom,  345 
Farewell.  A.  625 
Fatherland.  The.  298 
Feigned  Courage.  374 
Fife  and  Drum,  280 
Fine  Day,  A,  5 
First,  Best  Country,  TIic, 


275 


Eagle,  The,  109 

Earl  Mar's  Daughter, 
576 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a 
Mad  Dog,  379 

Elegy  Written  in  a  Coun- 
try Churchyard,  612 


Flag  Goes  Bv,  Tlie,  324 
Fhght  of  the  Birds,  The. 

Ill 
For   Home   and    Country, 


275 


Forbearance,  603 
Forsaken,    Merman,    The, 
444 


INDEX   BY   TITLES 


Garden  of  Girls,  A,  231 

Gathering  Song  of  Donuil 
Dim,  28T 

Glad  Evangel,  The,  635 

Glenlogie,  597 

Glove  and  the  Lions,  The, 
460 

God  Rest  Ye,  jMerry  Gen- 
tlemen, 653 

Going  A- relaying,  197 

Going  A-Nutting,  219 

Goldfinches,  107 

Gos-haAvk,  The  Gay,  569 

Gracious   Time,   The,   661 

Grass,  The,  81 

Grasshopper  and  Cricket, 
On  the.  111 

Grasshopper  and  the 
Cricket,  To  the,  115 

"  Gray  Swan,"  The,  452 

Green  Things  Growing,  57 

Greyport  Legend,  A,  458 

Hannah     Binding     Shoes, 

414 
Harp  that  Once  Through 

Tara's  Halls,  The,  279 
Harvest  Moon,  The,  27 
Helena   and   ILermia,    250 
Herve  Kiel,  493 
Llesperus'  Song,  151 
High    Tide   on   the   Coast 

of     Lincolnshire,     The, 

438 

I 


Highland  Cattle,  50 
Hohenlinden,  542 
Home,  131 
Home  Song,  138 
Housekeeper,  The,  400 
How  Sleep  the  Brave !  292 
Hov/    they    Brought    the 

Good  Newfe  from  Ghent 

to  Aix,  464 
How's  My  Boy?  462 
Humble-Bcc,  The,  116 
Hunter's  Song,  The,  223 
Hunting  Song,  222 
Llj'mn  for  Christmas,  639 
Hynde  Horn,  593 

I  Am  Lonely,  128 

I  Love  Mv  Jean,  252 

In  a  Child's  Album,  602 

In  August,  14 

In  Merry  :Mood,  353 

Inchcape  Rock,  The,  468    ^ 

Incident     of    the     French 

Camp,  544 
Indians,  313 
Inglenook,  The,  121 
Invocation     to     Rain     in 

Summer,  34 
Ivry,  530 

Jessie,  246 

Jock  of  Llazeldean,  430 

Jog  On,  Jog  On,  200 

1 


LNDKx  Hv  'frn,i:s 


Jul  J,  13 

June  Weather,  11 


Lucy,  Uln 

TiUlliihv   for  Tiianiji,  1  Ki 


King  John  and  the  Abbot      M:uK.  in  ||ic  II„t  UVuflur, 


of  Canterbur}^  558 
King  of  Denmark's  Ride, 

The,  418 
Knight's  Tomb,  The,  292 
Kubla  Khan,  160 


;398 
Magic     ("ar     .Mi)\((l     On, 

The,   Hi2 
Mapli'  Liaves,  17 
March,  6 
Marco  IJozzaris,  5-t5 
Lady  of  Shalott,  The,  431      May,  9 
Landing    of    the    Pilgrim      .Mermaid,  The,  178 


Fathers,  305 
Latter  Rain,  The,  35 
Leolin  and  Edith,  218 
Life,  601 
Life  Lessons,  601 


Merman,  The,  177 

Midwinter,  23 

Mine  Host  of  "  The  C.old- 

en  Apple,"  64 
]Minnows,  45 


Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave,      Minstrel-Bov,  The,  278 


A,  257 

Lincoln,  the  Great  Com- 
moner, 319 

Lion  and  the  Cub,  Tiie, 
378 

Little  BclL  234 

Lochinvar,  427 

Long    White    Seam,   The^ 


^Minstrels  and   Maids,  654 
Monkey,  Tiic,  401 
Morning,  1 
Morning  Song,  A,  2 
Mother's  Song,  123 
Music's  Silver  Sound,  210 
My  Heart's   in   the  High- 
lands, 277 
INIy  Nannie's  Awa',  253 


413 

Lord    Beichan    and    Susie  :\Iy  Native  Land,  276 

Pve,  563  :\rV  Peggy,  243 

Lord     Ullin's     Daughter,  Myth,  A,  173 

416 

Love   Will    Find    Out  the  Name  of  Old  Glory,  The, 


Way,  133 
Loyalty,  276 


349 
Needle,  The,  228 
[683] 


INDEX    BY   TITLES 


New  Household,  A,  121  Old  Scottish  Cavalier,  The, 


New    Prince,   New    Pomp, 

610 
New      World      and      Old 

Glory,  301 
Night,  4' 
Night    Before     Waterloo, 

The,  540 
Night  Quarters,  329 
Night   With  a   Wolf,   A, 

471 
Nikolina,  248 
Noble  Nature,  The,  603 
Northern  Seas,  The,  226 
November,  402 

Oberon  and  Titania  to  the 
Fairy  Train,  147 

O  Captain  !  My  Captain ! 
323 

O  Little  Town  of  Bethle- 
hem, 648 

October's      Bright      Blue 
Weather,  16 

Ode  on  the  Birth  of  Our 
Saviour,  An,  656 

Ode    Sung    in    the    Town 
Hall,  Concord,  316 

Ode      to      the      Northeast 
Wind,  36 

Old  Christmas,  652 

Old    Cliristmas    Returned, 
657 

Old  Ironsides,  312 


281 
Old  Song,  213 
Old  Winter,  22 
Olive  Tree,  The,  619 
Olivia,  247 
O   Mally's   Meek,   Mally's 

Sweet,  239 
On       a       Favorite       Cat, 

Drowned   in   a   Tub   of 

Goldfishes,  353 
On     First    Looking     Int^- 

Chapman's  Homer,  210 
On  His  Blindness,  606 
On    the   Grasshopper   and 

Cricket,  114 
On  the  Loss  of  the  Royal 

George,  535 
On  the  Wing,  93 
One  by  One,  629 
Opportunity,  608 
Orpheus    with    His    Lute, 

149 
Our  Mother  Tongue,  345 

Peace,  627 

Phyllis,  251 

Pied    Piper    of    Hamelin, 

The,  480 
Pigwiggcn,    The    Arming 

of,  M9 
Pilgrim,  The.  632 
Pipes    at    Lucknow,    The, 

514 


684] 


INDEX    BY    TITJ.ICS 


Planting     of     the     Apple 

Tree,  The,  59 
Pocahontas,  303 
Polonlus  to  Laertes,  618 
Portrait,  A,  231 
Power  of  Music,  The,  211 
Priest   and    the    Mulberry 

Tree,  The,  355 
Procession  of  the  Flowers, 

The,  67 
Providence,  119 
Puclv  ;uid  the  Fairy,  145 

Rain  in  Summer,  32 
Raven,  The,  182 
Reading,  209 
Recessional,  297 
Reveille,  The,  288 
Rhodora,  The,  76 
Riddle,  A  (A  Book),  371 
Riildle,     A     (The    Letter 

H),  373 
Riddle,   A    (The  Vowels), 

372 
Romance  and  Reality,  407 
Romance    of    the    Swan's 

Nest,  423 
Ruth,  242 

Sabrina  Fair,  157 
Sailor's  Wife,  The,  134 
Sandpiper,  The,  107 
Sands  of  Dec,  The,  450 
Scene  in  Paradise,  A,  52 


Scythe  Song,  86 
Sea,  Thi-,  2')H 
Sea-Song,  A,  259 
Seasons,  The,  5 
Seven  Times  Two,    Ml 
Shell,  The,  270 
Sheplierd     Boy     Sings     in 

the   Valley   of   llumihu- 

tion.  The,  610 
Shepherd     to     His     Love, 

The,  420 
Shepiierd's      Home,      The, 

112 
Sheridan's  Ride,  332 
Sigli  of  Silence,  The,  58 
Sing  on,  BHthe  Bird!  93 
Singing  lA'aves,  'I'he,  407 
Sir  Lark   and    King   Sun: 

A  Parable,  99 
Sir      Launfal       and       the 

Leper,  606 
Sir  Patrick  Spens,  551 
Skating,  207 
Skylark,     The      (ll'.gg), 

102 
Skvlark,  The  (Tennvson). 

101 
Snow-Bound      {  K\ tracts). 

46 
Snowdrop,  A,  69 
Snowing     of     the     Pines. 

The,  66 
Snow  Stonn,  The,  21 
Soldier,  Rest !  296 


[685] 


INDEX   BY   TITLES 


Solitary  Reaper,  The,  249 
Solomon  and  the  Bees,  502 
Song  of  Clover,  A,  76 
Song  of  Love,  A,  122 
Song  of  the  Camp,  The, 

284 
Song  of  the  Negro  Boat- 
man, 335 
Song   of   the    Turtle   and 

Flamingo,  385 
Song    on    May    Morning, 

10 
Song  to  April,  7 
So  Sweet  is  She,  251 
Spacious     Firmament     on 

High,  The,  54 
Sports  and  Pastimes,  195 
Spring,  7 

Stand  by  the  Flag !  342 
Stanzas  on  Freedom,  317 
Star  Song,  The,  638 
Summer,  10 
Sweet  Peas,  68 
Sweet  September,  15 
Swimming  (Byron),  202 
Swimming      (Swinburne), 
201 


Tacking   Ship   Off  Shore, 

265 
Tales  of  the  Olden  Time, 

551 


Tax-Gatherer,  The,  114 

Three  Kings,  The  (Field), 
644 

Three  Kings,  The  (Long- 
fellow), 641 

Tiger,  The,  53 

Tiger-Lilies,  71 

Time  to  Go,  86 

To  a  Child  of  Quality,  369 

To  a  Cricket,  113 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  73 

To  a  Skylark,  94 

To  a  Waterfowl,  105 

To  America,  347 

To  Daffodils,  78 

To-day,  602 

To      Mistress      Margaret 
Hussey,  240 

To  the  Dandelion,  77 

To   the  Fringed  Gentian, 
72 

To    the   Grasshopper   and 
the  Cricket,  115 

To  the  Ocean,  255 

Tree,  The,  65 

Turkish  Legend,  A,  611 

Twenty-second  of  Decem- 
ber, The,  306 

Two  Heavens,  121 

Two  Veterans.  340 


I 


Under      the 
Tree,  59 


Greenwood 


(686  1 


INDEX    BV     riTLKS 

Vagabond  Song,  A,  201  While  Shcplu  nls  WutclK d 

Vision  of  Belshazzur,  Tlic,  Tluir  Flocks  liv   Niglit 

500  (Tate),  ()49 

Visit  from  the  Sea,  A,  261  White  Anemone,  The,  80 

Whittling,  220 

Walrus  and  the  Carpenter,  Who  is  Silvia?  210 

The,  381  Wild  Hose,  70 

Warren's  Address,  308  Wind,  The,  35 

Washington,  307  Windlass  Song,  2()H 

Waterfowl,  To  a,  105  Windy  Night,  The,  39 

Waterloo,  The  Night  Be-  V»'inter,  19 

fore,  540  Winter  Morning,  A,  20 

We  are  Seven,  141  World  Beautiful,  The,  27 

Wlien    Banners   are   Wav-  World    of    Waters,    'I'lie, 

ing,  509  255 

When  Icicles  Hang  by  the  Wreck    of    the    Hesperus, 

Wall,  19  The,  451 
Where  Lies  the  Land  ?  273 
While  Shepherds  Watched 

Their  Flocks  by  Night  Ye  Mariners  of  England 

(Deland),  637  '  290 

Young  Fir- wood.  A,  G5 


€166 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  'below 


-     1S45 
' S  194B 


AW  131949 

1  4  1957 
3  0  V 

FEB  1    19®^ 


JSl    NOV  30  1970 

RENEwr-bf ab  m. 


m 

4 


^>.ri  ^«"'^ 


Form  L-H 
2'i»(-12. '.19(3386) 


AA 


440    6 


$. 


